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aislinrayne · 3 months

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[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a particularly rough case, Reader starts acting distant. Lockwood thinks giving her space will help. When he's woken by the phone ringing, George doesn't need to know what happened to know it's probably Lockwood's fault.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature/Explicit.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual content (second base with intent to go further), anxious avoidant Reader, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, drunk Reader, Reader is harassed at the bar, brief touch without consent, no use of y/n.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Fuck I love playing with different kinds of dynamics. I've had this sitting partially drafted in my writing folder for a year now, and the brain-goblins wouldn't let me keep working on SM until this was done lmao Please let this be the year I finally get a handle on my creative flow fml

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.1k

The first time the phone rings, both inhabitants of 35 Portland Row manage to remain deep in a well earned slumber.

The second time the phone rings, it successfully rouses one George Karim. Muttering a string of colourful insults under his breath that - had he been in his family home - would have earned him a smack over the head with his mother’s slipper, he reluctantly drags himself from the warmth and comfort of his duvet. Letting out a long suffering sigh that lasts through the entire shuffle from his room to the phone on the floor below, he lifts it from the receiver and greets the caller with a noise somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘fuck off’.

“Evening, sorry to wake you. This is James, calling from The Royal Oak. Is there a, uh-” Even over the numerous voices and the clinking of glass in the background, George can hear the gruff sounding man being interrupted by a woman’s voice mumbling incoherently before all sound is muffled by a palm being pressed over the mic on the other end, “-sorry, did you say…? Really, sweetheart? Alright, but don’t try to blame this on me tomorrow when you sober up.”

Then the phone is back to full volume. “Sorry about that, I’ve got a young lady here who says she lives at this address? She’s too drunk to get herself home and this is the number she gave for someone she trusts to come get her. But, uh, she-” James seems like he’d rather not say the next bit, “well, she just keeps asking for ‘that selfish wanker’? Won’t give me a name otherwise.”

There’s not a lot in this world capable of rendering George completely speechless, but that… That does it. He allows the phone to drop from his ear for a moment, resting it on his shoulder as he attempts to compose himself and reply to the nice man on the other end of the line.

“Uh… Yeah, she- she’s ours. Probably talking about our boss, then. I’ll, uh… I’ll go wake him. I’m sure he’ll be there very soon.” He has to speak up over the sound of James choking and sputtering in surprise to say a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before slamming the phone down and jogging up the stairs to wake his friend.

He pauses for a moment halfway up, considering heading back downstairs to grab a boot to throw at the door. Unfortunately his need for immediate answers outweighs his urge to be petty, so he settles for pounding loudly on the door instead. There’s quiet rustling and not so quiet cursing on the other side before it’s ripped open.

“What?!” A dishevelled Anthony Lockwood snaps, blinking sleep from glaring eyes and leaning on the doorframe in an endeavour to keep himself upright.

“Just got a call from The Royal Oak, down on York Street? Turns out they have a resident of this address drunkenly calling for a ‘selfish wanker’ to come pick her up.” George crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at the taller man.

Lockwood’s expression shifts from its existing irritated frown into confusion, then straight to alarm. He wastes no time flipping the light switch beside the doorway, bathing the room in light as he crosses it to tug one of his dresser drawers open.

“Can you call me a Night Cab, please? Offer them double fare to prioritise.” He calls over his bare shoulder, searching for a t-shirt and hoodie to toss on. His researcher says nothing as he complies, deciding to save the interrogation for later.

Anthony is properly worried. Their third roommate had come back from their last job acting distant. They’d been separated by a pair of particularly nasty Spectre’s for close to an hour, but she’d succeeded in securing the Source’s and they’d all made it out in one piece. He’d been so caught up in pride for his team he hadn’t noticed the effect it had on her until days later. When he tried to approach her with his concerns, she clammed up and looked as though she was about to cry before excusing herself to her room. None of the members of his agency, himself included, had seen her exit her room for two days after that. He hadn’t asked about it since, and while giving her space seemed to be working by way of not making her cry, he was starting to wonder if it had been upsetting her in a different way. Even taking all of that into consideration, there’s still no way he could have seen a phone call like this coming at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday.

All he can find is a sleeveless black undershirt. With a huff of frustration he pulls it over his head, kicking the drawer closed simultaneously, then pulling open the one above it. The joggers he fell asleep in are fine enough, so after a fit of undignified hopping across the room to cover his feet with pink socks he grabs a random hoodie off of the armchair by the window, shrugs into it, and zips it on his way down the stairs.

George is waiting for him at the bottom, staring at his watch.

“Your cab should be here in three minutes, mine should be here in thirteen.” He looks up from his wrist, meeting his boss’s confused look with an exasperated one. “I’m heading to Flo’s for the night, so whatever you fucked up, mate? Fix it.” Karim claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to pack an overnight bag. It might not be conventional, but Anthony knows it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’s going to get.

The next several minutes pass in a blur of waiting and worrying, until finally it’s 3:14 AM and he’s slipping the cab driver an extra twenty quid to wait for them, swearing to be no longer than fifteen minutes. The ungodly-early morning air is sharp and cold, cutting to the bone as soon as he steps out of the comforting warmth of the vehicle. It’s plenty enough encouragement to hurry his way to the building, pulling the door open to slip into the soft golden warmth and loud ambiance of the pub.

He hesitates on the doormat, catching sight of the other patrons. Thankfully it isn’t a particularly highbrow establishment, but it's nice enough for him to feel noticeably underdressed in black joggers and a grey zip-up. And then he lays eyes on her, and all insecurities are immediately banished by the sharp knife of shock burying itself in his gut.

She’s balanced on a table, wearing a little black dress he’d never seen before. Her arms are raised above her head, fingers combing through her hair as her hips sway to the bass of the music in a way that probably would have had his mouth watering if it wasn’t for present circumstances. He isn’t the only one noticing her. There’s a group of men standing around the table, watching her with hungry eyes that make his skin crawl with disgust. A tall blonde man pushes his way past the rest of the crowd, deep set ice blue eyes chasing up her legs. She seems to either be unaware of his presence, or too lost in the music to care. Even from his position across the room he can see her eyes are out of focus, drifting away for split seconds every few beats from the speakers on the wall. The man raises a hand and grabs her thigh, using enough pressure to leave visible fingermarks.

Lockwood finds himself frozen in place, blood boiling as he mentally considers how challenging talking his way out of a murder charge could really be. Surely not that much harder than talking his way out of an arson charge, and he’d done that often enough to be confident in his abilities.

Before his sleep deprived mind can break free of its indecision, the girl spins around abruptly and slaps the lecherous limb away from her. The slime of a man attached to it is none too happy about that, making a move to grab for her arm. Her normally impeccable reflexes are slowed by the alcohol, she can’t move fast enough to avoid the attack. When his fingers close around her wrist, he pulls. Hard. She teeters on the edge of the table, her short cry of pain audible even over the music.

Huh. He’d always thought the whole ‘seeing red’ thing was entirely turn of phrase, but as it turns out, there’s actually a modicum of truth to it.

He’s halfway across the bar by the time he realises he’s in motion, but he’s not about to stop. Closing the remaining distance in a few purposeful strides, he grabs the creep’s arm in a vice grip. The blonde releases his hold on her immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the pain. Lockwood lets him stumble away in surprise, wasting no time placing himself in between his friend and the threat to her safety. At first he’s optimistic he might have a chance to vent some anger when the wanker locks eyes with him, but whatever he’d seen in Anthony’s was enough to make him back down and stumble off with an insincere apology.

Reminding himself to focus his attention where it belongs, he turns to look up at the girl on the table. Her face lights up with delight when she recognizes him, then swiftly sours the longer she looks at him. He feels like an absolute prick for not noticing the dark circles around her eyes sooner. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he reaches up to offer her both of his hands, palms up. She sways in place for a moment, scowling pensively at the proffered appendages. He studies her face while he waits patiently, trying to find any hint of what could be bothering her enough to take this approach to forgetting.

With a tiny hiccup she finally caves, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her to solid ground. Once both of her feet are securely on the sticky floor, he offers her his arm for support. She gives him another little glare, but just like before, she eventually accepts his help. Scanning the other tables and chairs around her makeshift stage, he sees no sign of a purse or jacket that he recognises in the slightest.

“Did you bring anything with you, sweetheart?” He asks her directly, leaning closer to her ear to be heard over the noise. If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks almost flustered; eyes glazed, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, looking through him rather than at him as she tries to filter his words through the haze of liquor clouding her mind. Although he’s prepared to wait as long as it takes for her to answer, he can’t help but feel a touch relieved when the bartender waves him over holding a familiar leather clutch. Gently taking her by the arm, he guides her to a nearby chair to sit and wait for him to collect her belongings. Giving a final warning look to the remaining crowd for good measure, he leaves her side to approach the bar.

The man behind it is average height, with mid length dark hair as well kept as his perfectly trimmed goatee. He abandons the glass he’s polishing, tossing the white cloth he’d been using over his shoulder and offering Anthony a calloused hand. “I take it you must be-”

“‘That selfish wanker’? Present and accounted for, though I also answer to ‘Anthony’.” He replies, accepting the handshake.

The other man’s grip is firm but friendly, and he throws his head back in merriment at Lockwood’s unexpected introduction. “James, pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from your little Songbird over there.”

Lockwood winces. “Not all bad, hopefully.”

“No, not all bad.” James soothes before leaning in conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

He shoots him a wink as he settles back, and now it’s Anthony’s turn to laugh. It’s decided then and there; they like each other.

He reaches behind the lip of the bar, grabbing the clutch he’d tucked out of sight until he could determine Lockwood’s identity. “This is all she brought with her. You’ve got a safe way home?”

Anthony takes it from him with a grateful smile. “Yeah, paid the driver to stick around. I consider myself pretty good at multitasking, just not ‘keeping her upright and not getting ghost-touched’ good.” James lets loose a hearty laugh in response.

The screech of wood against the floor draws their attention back to the woman formerly in the chair, now standing unsteadily a few feet away.

“And that’s my cue. Pleasure to meet you, James. And, uh-” He glances back at her involuntarily. “Thank you. For keeping an eye on her, calling us, the lot of it.”

The bartender smirks, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look. “It's what any decent person would do. Don’t be a stranger now, either of you.”

Lockwood departs the bar, clutch in hand, with a salute and a promise to be back another time. She seems confused at first when he tries to get her attention, switching to stare at him reproachfully when she recognises him again. He sighs, trying to tuck away his own feelings of exhaustion and defeat.

“Let's get you home, love.” He murmurs, offering his arm again. She takes it without hesitation this time, leaning heavily against him as they make their way to the exit. Pausing on the doormat, he carefully extracts his limb from her grip, soothing her little noise of protest by assuring she’d be using him as a crutch again momentarily. The metal of the zipper is cold against his bare arms as he shrugs his hoodie off, blatantly ignoring her attempts to argue with him and draping the grey fabric over her shoulders.

The cold breeze cuts into him once they’re outside, but he carefully schools his expression to avoid showing her it's affecting him at all. Despite having paid the man extra, he’s still pleasantly surprised to see the black cab still waiting at the curb. It’s easier than he’d expected to load her into the comfortable back seat. She doesn’t even try to swat his hand away when he places it on top of her head to prevent her bouncing it off the roof in her attempt to get in. Once she’s scooted to the far side, he climbs in after her. She seems lost in thought, staring absently at the headrest in front of her. He leans closer slowly, giving her ample time to move away if she doesn’t want him in her space. When she remains stationary, he reaches across her body to grab her seatbelt, gently buckling her in and tightening the belt over her hips.

She finally looks at him, expression blank as she studies his features. It’s clear her mind is elsewhere, and she returns to staring at the black leather so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined the whole thing. He gives their driver the all clear, directing him to drop them off where he’d first picked him up before slumping back into his seat for the uncomfortably quiet ride home.

They’re half-way there when he can stand to ignore the elephant in the room no longer. The words slip out before he can think of a more tactful way to ask; “What’s going on with you?”

She turns to look at him so slowly it’s almost unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She answers bitterly, her voice laced with the same steel as her eyes.

“That’s bloody horseshit!” He scoffs, far too tired to hold back. “If there was nothing wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten a call tonight.”

Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by the number colourful insults she’d like to hurl at him.

“Like you care.” She finally mutters, shaking her head and turning away from him to stare pointedly out her window.

“...What?” He manages to put his frustration on hold for a moment, making room for his growing concern. “Of course I care, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

She laughs darkly, shaking her head. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” He cries in exasperation.

She whips around to face him. “You knew I was struggling! You knew, and you ignored it because it was easier than dealing with me!” Her eyes are wild, chest heaving as she draws in air like she has to fight for every breath.

All hostility drains out of him in an instant, leaving him uncomfortably hollow in its absence. He’s intimately aware of her eyes searching his face, trying to gain some kind of insight into his mind. He feels like he’s just stumbled into a minefield, and in a way he has. If his next words aren’t carefully chosen, he could detonate one and destroy his friendship with someone he can’t live without.

Organising his thoughts and taking a deep breath, he plunges ahead.

“I’m sorry. I thought by giving you space I was giving you what you needed, but I should have just talked to you. And you’re right, I was being selfish, just… not in the way you’re thinking.” She looks like she’s about to interrupt, but he ploughs on. “I was afraid if I pushed too hard you’d shut me out. I thought it would be safer to stay silent and let you come to me when you were ready, but it was my responsibility to communicate that to you, and I failed.”

They sit in stillness for far longer than he’s comfortable with, his words hanging in the air between them.

When she finally puts him out of his misery, he has to strain to hear her over the rumble of the car. “It wasn’t two Spectres.”

It feels like someone’s poured ice down his back. “...What?”

“The last job? We thought it was just two Spectres, but it wasn’t. It-” Her voice shakes, then dies. She has to stop and breathe, looking like she’s about to be crushed by the weight of the words on her tongue. “One of them was a Fetch.”

Staring down at his hands, he searches for the right words to say. Is he supposed to say anything at all? If he interrupts now, will she shut him out? If he doesn’t, will she think he doesn’t care? A point of personal pride for him is being able to read people, to shape himself into whatever role they need him to fill, but… he has no idea who she needs him to be right now.

She hesitantly continues. “It was you.”

He looks up at her only to find her eyes already on him. “It wasn’t.”

She laughs sadly, but doesn’t look away. When she tips her head to concede the point, the light catches at the corner of her eye. “Right. It did use your face, though.”

“Whatever it said, it isn’t true.” He can’t resist the urge to reach across the seat between them, wiping the tear from her cheek and hoping she can feel the truth in his words when he says; “A Fetch will find your worst fear and exploit it. And I swear to you, I will never allow anything to make you feel afraid like this again.”

Silence stretches on between them, becoming heavier with every second passing them by. His thumb continues stroking her face slowly, absentmindedly. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think her eyes had drifted to his lips.

“Kiss me.”

His hand falls from her face. For a second, he thinks it’s him that’s said it. When he realises it wasn’t, the potential implications of her words make his heart stutter. There’s a chance this is just a drunken impulse, a need for comfort in a moment of vulnerability. If it is, what the hell is he supposed to do about it? If he gives in to her, will he be able to carry on working beside her once he’s had a taste of the life with her he doesn’t even allow himself to dream about? On the flip side, there’s a chance that this is an actual confession. The Fetch had chosen his face to torment her, and as horrifying as that had been to hear, it only would have done so if she felt something for him. Maybe she feels the same as he does. Maybe the reason he can never figure out what mask to put on for her, is that she’s only ever needed him to be himself. Hope fills every inch of him as he stares at her, enraptured.

Then, he realises he’s been quiet for long enough for panic to fill her eyes.

“Ask me in the morning.” He breathes, feeling as perplexed as she looks when the words come out of his mouth. She’s confused that he hasn’t directly shot her down. He’s confused that he’s capable of this kind of restraint while sleep deprived.

“What?” She frowns, blinking as her eyes lose focus for a split second in her bewilderment.

Feeling more confident in his decision, he smiles softly at her. “Ask me when you’re sober, and when we’re not in this nice man’s cab.”

The driver laughs, trying and failing to cover it with a guilty cough.

Once they reach 35 Portland Row, Anthony covers the fare and slips the man a generous tip for enduring their antics before exiting the cab. The emotional intensity of the ride home had been enough to partially sober up his companion, but he still isn’t sold on her ability to climb stairs without assistance. He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her waist until they reach the door of her room - formerly Lucy’s - on the top level of the house before reluctantly removing it. She wobbles for a moment, but it seems to be more from her leaning to chase his touch than any serious instability. They stand there for a while, neither willing to walk away from the other, until a large yawn overtakes her.

He chuckles, suddenly remembering James’ nickname for her. “Goodnight, Songbird.”

“That’s a stupid nickname.” She complains, scrunching up her face in distaste. When all he does is laugh some more, she sighs and carries on. “Goodnight, Anthony. Sweet dreams.”

He disagrees completely, of course. From her lips, his name is the sweetest song he’s ever heard. Turning away from him, she places her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t make any move to twist it. He’s about to ask her if something is wrong when she turns back to him swiftly, closing the distance between them and standing on her toes to brace her hands on his shoulders as she presses the ghost of a kiss against his cheek. By the time he’s raised trembling fingers to the tingling skin, she’s already in her room with the door closed behind her.

He spends his early morning dreaming of the flutter of wings, and birds gently pecking him on the cheek.

When he’s woken by persistent knocking on his door once more, Anthony Lockwood finds himself wondering what precisely he had done to piss off Hypnos in a past life.

Still on high alert from his unusual evening, he’s out of bed and across the room without a second thought. When he pulls the door open he’s entirely expecting another emergency, not to find the girl of his dreams standing there staring steadfast at her feet.

“I am so sorry about last night, I should have told you what was going on instead of going on a bloody bender. That was incredibly immature and irresponsible of me and I completely understand if you want to fire me.” She starts slow, but by the end of her apology the words are flying out of her mouth. Despite her best efforts, the misery in her voice as she says the last bit is tangible.

Why would he want that? Still not entirely awake, the first thing out of his mouth is the first thought in his mind. “Please don’t leave.”

“...What?” Not even remotely prepared for that response, she finally looks up at him. As their eyes meet, reality sets in and time seems to slow.

When he takes a proper look at her, he completely forgets the entirety of the English language. Her hair is mussed from sleep, remnants of last night's makeup smudged under her eyes. She’d apparently had the mental faculties to change into her pyjamas the night previous, and while he’d seen her in those shorts often enough to control the urge to stare, something about her wearing his hoodie zipped over them was making him feel like a moron. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. On the other side of the doorway, she’s having a very similar crisis. His sleep tousled hair only doubled her ever present urge to rake her fingers through it. And not only had he been in such a hurry to answer the door he hadn’t bothered to slip on a shirt, his joggers were also sitting dangerously low on his hips. Their eyes snap back to each other's faces in tandem, both flushing almost comical shades of red.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” He asks hurriedly, heart pounding in his throat.

“I said a lot of things.” She wraps her arms around herself, laughing nervously. “Which part?”

He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, searching them for some clue to tell him what comes next.

Mustering more courage than she thought she was capable of, she answers honestly. “Yeah, I did. Every word.”

Mimicking his actions from the night before he extends both of his hands towards her, palms up. She tilts her head quizzically, but places her hands in his. He uses them to pull her close enough their bodies are almost touching, guiding her arms to rest on his shoulders, releasing them to place one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck. She inhales sharply when he leans in, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw while her gaze flickers between his eyes and lips. He’s studying her face like he never wants to forget a single detail, but he doesn’t get any closer. She’s lightheaded and pretty sure she’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss her soon, which is probably why it’s not until she sees the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that she realises what he’s waiting for.

“Kiss me.” She breathes.

He doesn’t need to be told a third time. He leans down and kisses her like he’ll never get the chance to do so again, like the world is falling to pieces around them and the only thing that can save them is the feeling of her lips against his. The hand on the side of her throat slides back to bury itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head to take the strain off her neck from their notable difference in height. Her hands wander the expanse of bare skin across his back, mapping every muscle and scar like it’s the braille translation of his life story. He shivers under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her body tight to his in a desperate attempt to fill the yawning pit within him that had grown larger with every day he believed he’d never get to hold her like this.

As she runs her hands down his sides to his hips he gasps involuntarily, deepening their kiss with enthusiasm. Driven by curiosity, she lets her nails graze his skin as she retraces her previous path. The noise he makes in response is downright sinful, but so is the feeling of his rapier-calloused skin against her back as he slips his hand under the hem of his hoodie. Her breath catches as his fingers trace featherlight patterns up and down her spine, feeling him grinning between kisses when he notices she’s not wearing anything beneath the grey material. When he nips at her lower lip, she drags her nails down his back, and the last of his restraint abandons him.

Both of his hands drop, fingers dimpling the flesh of her upper thighs. As in sync as they are in the field he’d never dared to imagine the same would apply to the bedroom, so he’s a little blown away when she understands his intentions immediately, jumping as he lifts her up to wrap her legs around his hips without breaking from each other. Now he’s the one craning his neck to capture her lips, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he crosses the short distance to the wall, pressing her back against it and groaning at the restrained whimper that slips free from her.

“Please don’t hold back. I want to hear you sing for me, my little Songbird.” He urges, adjusting his grip to slide his hands up her sides under his hoodie, palming one of her breasts and swiping a thumb experimentally across her skin to carefully catch one of her nipples between his thumb and the side of his forefinger. She finally breaks, back arching away from the wall, head falling back against it as she moans unabashedly. All of his strength threatens to leave him when she rolls her hips against his, dropping his free hand to grab at the plush of her ass and pull her impossibly closer as he whispers praise between frenzied kisses pressed to her throat. She buries her hands in his hair, gasping for air as his ministrations travel to her collarbones then slowly down the centre of her chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss to swell of her breast-

The front door slams open, startling them apart. There’s the sound of shuffling beneath them as someone kicks off their shoes.

“OI, MATE!” George’s voice calls from the base of the stairs, “Did you fix it?”

They look at each other, dazed and drunk off each other. A confused frown decorates her features, mouth falling open to ask him what the hell their other roommate is talking about. He shakes his head in exasperation, shooting her a look that reads ‘I’ll fill you in later’ and dropping his head to rest on her chest. They take as many seconds as they dare like that, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly as he wraps his arms around her back, basking in the warmth of her body against his. Reluctantly, he lifts his head and steps away from the wall, gently setting her back on her feet and pressing a kiss to her temple. She seems hesitant to move away from him at all, back to staring at her feet instead of looking at him. He’s known her for long enough to know she’s overthinking.

“Hey, look at me.” He slips his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze. “What’s on your mind, darling?”

“I don’t-” She starts strong but stops suddenly, shifting anxiously. “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing, or - or just a way to blow off steam-”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cradling her face and pressing a brief but searing kiss against her lips. She softens, melting into his touch.

“Good,” He murmurs as he pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a peck on the cheek like the one she’d given him the night before, “because I don’t think I can survive another day of not being able to kiss you.”

George chooses that moment to begin his ascent of the stairs. They break away from each other, struggling to make themselves presentable before he makes it to the landing. Anthony rushes to grab a shirt from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his head haphazardly She squeaks when she finds the zipper of his hoodie down to her navel, shooting him a teasingly chastising look when he snickers and crosses past her to greet their researcher in the hall, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it. She yanks the zip as high as it will go, trying to smooth her own hair as she approaches the bookshelf and grabs something at random. She throws herself into the armchair in the corner of his room just in time, flipping the book open to roughly the halfway point and staring intently at the page as George reaches the top step.

“Good morning!” Anthony greets him far too cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to obscure the other man’s view of his room.

“...Morning.” George replies, not even trying to disguise his attempts to peer around his boss. “How’d it go last night?”

“Um - fine! Yeah, just fine. Perfectly fine. Everything is… fine.” She closes her eyes, letting out a slow quiet sigh at his obvious nerves.

Adjusting the book to make sure it’s in his line of sight, she grits her teeth and bites the bullet. “Morning, Georgie!”

Lockwood looks over his shoulder at her in alarm, but at her reassuring nod he steps hesitantly out of the way so she’s in clear view.

George inspects her with narrowed eyes. “You are significantly less hungover than I’d expected.”

She winces, not able to fault him in the slightest for the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah, pretty sure it just hasn’t hit me yet. Sorry about that. It won’t happen again, Scouts Honour.”

“Why are you in Lockwood’s room?” His brow furrows almost imperceptibly.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “I was so drunk last night he was worried I was going to fall asleep on my back and choke on my own vomit, so he made me sleep in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair.”

Both men fix their eyes on her. Anthony looks horrified, while George looks strangely impressed. The bespectacled man studies her for another moment and she holds her breath, hoping he’d bought it. Shrugging a ‘fair enough’, he bids them a temporary farewell and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him.

She huffs a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and slumping back in the chair as the tension drains from her body. When she cracks an eye a few long moments later, Anthony is still standing in the doorway with the same look of horror plastered across his face.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, worry laced in every syllable.

“I didn’t even think of that! I could have let you die!” He seethes, throwing his hands up in annoyance at himself.

She has to fight the urge to laugh at him, focusing instead on gathering her strength to stand and walk over to take his hands in her own.

“I appreciate the concern, my love, but I wasn’t that drunk by the time you got me home.” She smiles fondly at him, lifting his hands to press soft kisses to each knuckle. When she glances up at him even his ears are flushed pink, looking at her with a lovesick smile.

“Call me that again?” He implores, pulling her against him.

With a quiet laugh, she drapes her arms over his shoulders before replying. “My love.”

They lose themselves in each other for another several minutes, only parting grudgingly at the rumble of his stomach and the threat of another interruption.

George waits until later that morning when Lucy, Kipps, and Holly have joined them and they’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast to comment on Anthony’s inside out shirt, and how impressed he is that the sixth member of their agency has learned to read upside down. As Lucy slowly turns to look at them, eyes wide and jaw seemingly aiming to touch the floor, Anthony lets the red-faced young woman beside him hide her blush in his shoulder. For some reason, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed. Grinning proudly, he winks at the Listener, causing her to shriek loudly and demand to know the full story.

When his girlfriend looks up to shoot him a warning look, he mimics zipping his lips. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luce.”

Lucy’s demands are finally met five years later when James taps the side of his champagne flute with his knife, drawing the attention of the room full of guests to tell his favourite story about the bride and groom.

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

taglist: @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

#aislin writes #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #x reader #reader insert #x female reader

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thorniest-rose · 4 months

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Hi everyone,

A lot’s happened over the last few days and I know that I’ve been under a lot of scrutiny and the subject of conversation, so I wanted to take a moment to talk about it with you. I didn't address it last week when I was told that people in the fandom were posting about me and sharing screenshots of my blog. This was to protect my mental health, but now I want to share my own thoughts.

It's really hard not to lash out in situations like this because of how much it hurts. To go through something like this is shocking and humiliating, it rips the ground up from under your feet. But I didn't want to go on the attack because I knew how much worse that would make things. No matter how opinionated I am, conflict makes me feel sick and makes me want to hide. So instead of lashing out, I've done a lot of thinking over the past few days, not just about what's happened to me, but about things I've done and what could have led to this.

Firstly, I want to apologise to everyone whose feelings I may have hurt when I posted certain things in the past. I want any space that I cultivate to be a happy, positive one for the people who spend time here and at times I think I’ve unintentionally created an atmosphere that has felt combative or alienating. I honestly never consider myself to be a well-known writer or someone whose voice has reach in the wider fandom. No matter how many followers I have or how many people read my fics, I always see myself as a girl just spending time on her tumblr, but that's naive and I should have recognised that in a shared space, all opinions are seen and have an impact.

Discourse is my least favourite thing about interacting in fandom and there have been times where I’ve let myself be drawn into it. That doesn’t mean it’s ever okay to look down on what other people enjoy and I really regret posting those things now because that’s not who I am as a person. Expressing displeasure and other negative feelings isn’t what I want to engage in and I should remember how easy it is for flippant, spur of the moment comments to be taken out of context. Saying things like “I don’t like this” even on my own blog is immature and beneath me and I’m genuinely sorry.

I am also in no way any sort of authority on how these characters are written, no one is. A fandom is for everyone. I’m passionate and vocal in my own space because I treat my tumblr as a slumber party with my friends, but in my enthusiasm, there have been times where it seems like I’m saying my characterisations are the only valid ones. I don’t think that’s the case at all, and I genuinely love and admire the creativity in this fandom. I’ve said this before, but just because I have preferences doesn’t mean I want every characterisation to be the same as mine because that would become extremely dull. I believe that any and all interpretations should have an audience.

However, while I take responsibility for the things I've said on my blog, the things that have been said about me in response have been extremely spiteful and damaging. I never wanted a war with anyone. I should know better than to court discourse in such a volatile fandom, even inadvertently. To take issue with me and what I said is fine, I accept the criticism and apologise; at times my comments have been juvenile and mean-spirited. But a group of people targeting me, screenshotting my posts, calling me names and attacking what I write isn’t proportionate at all and encourages a wider pack mentality. I think we should all remember that there is an actual person behind the screen reading the things that we post and that our words can cause real harm. It’s easy to dehumanise an avatar and a username. And I think it speaks to a rot at the heart of fandoms that so many people find pleasure in fighting and where feelings can fester into hatred and vitriol.

I am outspoken and passionate about what I love. I sometimes bristle at things I see that don’t gel with my ideas or at a misjudged tone, and I post about them instead of seeing the bigger picture and moving on. It’s a flaw and something I’m working on, to be more open and less reactive. I don’t want fighting or tension, and I don’t want rivalries. I also don’t ever want to make people feel like their characterisations are wrong/invalid/unworthy or that they themselves don’t belong and that I’m some kind of fandom queen bee trying to ice them out. While that’s genuinely never been my intention, I can see how things have been taken that way and I’m sorry for that too.

Again, I’m sorry to everyone I’ve hurt or alienated with comments that I’ve made. I always want to be kind and compassionate. And while I don’t think what’s happened over the past few days is OK, I can see the bigger picture and why things I’ve said, or the atmosphere I’ve cultivated, has planted seeds of resentment. I've also unblocked the person who's been posting about me, if they want to reach out to talk privately.

I know there are people reading this who have been following me for the past four years, and in that time have seen me struggle, and fall down, and make mistakes, but hopefully grow and learn from those mistakes too. I’m so grateful to you all.

I’m going to take a break from tumblr for a week or so, to spend time away from socials, to connect with friends and other passions and focus on self-care. And to write, of course, because I’ll always be writing, whether it’s here or elsewhere.

See you all soon,

Brooke 💕

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femmefatalevibe · 2 years

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Femme Fatale Nighttime Routine

Prime your space for rest and sensual relaxation. Lean into your seductive, dark feminine energy. Set the tone to pursue self-care and pleasure after hours.

Wash Off The Day: Get out of your mind and into your body. Transition into the evening with a luscious shower (or bath) to help you feel your best. Use your favorite shampoo, conditioner, exfoliating scrub, and body wash that suit your hair and skin type. Savor the various scents, steam, and the blissful feeling of clean, smooth skin. Follow up your shower with a body lotion and a hair leave-in conditioner. Make sure they’re hydrating. Enjoy the lingering scent. Change into a silk robe or matching loungewear set in a luxurious fabric – satin, lace, or cashmere – that glides over your freshly pampered skin. Prioritizing yourself is sexy.

Listen To A Seductive Playlist: Create a rich, indulgent and serene environment. Depending on the mood (or how early you start your nighttime routine), tune into a playlist of sensual, slowed-down songs, a French playlist to unleash your inner je ne sais quoi, a slowed-down playlist, or an extended mediation music video to tap into your feminine energy. A few recommendations are below:

French Evening Playlists: Playlist 1, Playlist 2, Playlist 3

Slowed & Seductive Playlists: Playlist 1, Playlist 2, Playlist 3, Playlist 4

Divine/Dark Feminine Energy Meditations: Meditation 1, Meditation 2, Meditation 3

Do Your Skincare Routine: Build an evening skincare routine that feels like a relaxing ritual (and also offers lasting results). Find a cleanser, toner, and moisturizer that works for your skin type. Consider using skin-nourishing products like hyaluronic acid or vitamin C serum, retinol, and eye cream. Exfoliate your face 2-3 times a week. Use a rich, hydrating face mask once a week. Add a jade or quartz roller to your routine to massage your skin, release any tension, and debloat your face from the day. Do your skincare routine in the following order: Cleanser, Toner, Serum(s), Eye Cream, Spot Treatment, Moisturizer, and Face Oil. Try using disposable face cloths to prevent bacteria from causing breakouts. My favorite ones are linked HERE (they have an exfoliating side, too).

Make Some Tea: Indulge all your senses. Steep some bedtime or ‘sleepy time’ tea. Options with notes like vanilla, cinnamon, almond, cocoa, and chai offer a luscious and spicy aroma to help you embrace your sensuality (and satisfy any cravings before bed).

Indulge In A Creative Outlet: Add to your vision board on Pinterest, spend a few minutes browsing on Tumblr, draw, or write some artful prose – tap into your late-night creativity and imagination. Clear this brain space for a more enjoyable evening and better sleep.

Journal For 20 Minutes: Write out your feelings on a blank page or use a guided journal prompt. Practice some shadow work if you’re up to it. My favorite shadow work journal is linked HERE.

Stretch & Meditate: Take 5 minutes – on your couch or bed – to do some light, full-body stretches and a 5-10 minute meditation to relax your body and mind.

Read A Book: Choose a captivating philosophy, psychology, self-help, or a spicy novel. Try to read at least 10 pages daily to seduce your mind one last time before bed.

Make Bedtime Alluring: Have comfortable, loose pajamas, soft and clean sheets – both in smooth, luxurious fabrics – grazing your skin. Keep the room cool. Use a cashmere-scented, lavender, or chamomile pillow spray if you choose. Indulge in self-pleasure to help relax your muscles. Recount joyous memories to soothe your mind, help you unwind, and ease into a restful slumber.

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writingsforwhatever · 6 months

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magnolia (m.s.) part 2

part 1 part 3

summary: reader has a friends with benefits arrangement with matt (what is there to explain?)

genre: ANGST

word count: 1k

a/n: hi! please read this before pressing 'Keep reading' ~ this story was written years ago, it was for my creative writing and same as all the stories I posted here. I used different inspirations for this, from stories I've read before whether book or online. Again, this is fiction.

The sunlight streamed through the blinds, causing her to squint. She heard Matt's gentle breaths as he slept beside her, his body facing downward on the bed while his head turned towards her, granting her a view of his flawless face, even in slumber. He breathed quietly, not even a snore.

Last night felt like a dream. He took her to a rooftop restaurant with a stunning view of the city lights, where he confessed his love and decided to end their arrangement. She kissed him and cried, agreeing it was a stupid set up intended to only break their hearts. That was all Matt needed to hear.

Eventually, they ended up having sex in every corner of his place. He was grateful for his and his brothers' decision in giving each other the chance to move out and have their own place at times like these because he could not be seen fucking her in the kitchen counter by Nick where he eats his cereal every morning. And that is something Matt preferred not to think or worry about ever while he's buried inside of her. It also gave Matt a chance to be his own self after living with them for half of his life.

Familiarity with his apartment comes naturally to her, almost surpassing her knowledge of her own place. A forgotten scarf of hers, delicately hanging behind his front door, stands as a tangible reminder—a subtle representation of her presence in his life. Just like the scarf, she lingers, an ever-present figure, intricately woven into the fabric of his existence.

After a long day at work, she made her way to the coffee shop located on 11 Bow St, Somerville. He had texted her earlier that day that they needed to talk, this however set off an unsettling feeling inside of her. Walking down the familiar street, on the way to the apartment complex where Matt resided with his brothers—Chris down the hall and Nick on the second floor—she couldn't shake off an eerie feeling creeping upon her. Was Matt regretting in making her his girlfriend already? Why not just tell her over text? Was something wrong? With each step, she prepared herself for their conversation. More thoughts flooded her mind, yet she had no inkling of the surprising news Matt was about to reveal-something she hadn't even considered ever in her life.

When she stepped foot in his apartment, she secretly hoped it was a dinner surprise, him cooking her favorite meal, maybe an intimate bath he prepared for them while she was out; easing her worries from his text message. However, she stumbled upon Matt seated on the couch, his sobs echoing through the room. He sat with his hands on his head. His eyes, red and swollen. Coat and hat tossed aside carelessly. Tousled hair evidence of repeated running of fingers through the strands. As she took in the scene, he glances at her, blue eyes filled with tears.

"Oh my god, Matt. What happened? What's wrong?" she gasped, sinking to her knees before him and holding his trembling hands. He hugged her, his tear-streaked face buried in her shoulder, wetting her black turtleneck.

He couldn't manage a response, only releasing more sobs.

"What's going on, Matt? You're scaring me," she asked again, her voice soft with concern, her eyes reflecting the sorrow etched on his face.

In all the years she'd known him, she'd never witnessed Matt this distressed, not even close to this level of despair.

Matt struggled to speak through his tears. "I'm sorry, baby. I really am sorry."

Concern turned to deep worry. "Okay, now you're really scaring me. What happened? Why are you saying sorry to me? Did you and Chris have a fight? Or Nick—" she attempted to guess, while still trying to comfort him.

He interrupted, locking his gaze with hers. "It's Grace."

Her mind raced, a million more thoughts are now going through her head. Grace who?

"Who's—" she started, her voice trembling.

"It's the..." He faltered again, tears streaming down his face. "It's the girl I met at the bar in Canada."

With a nod, she silently urged Matt to continue. His tone conveyed an overwhelming sense of despair, as if his entire world had collapsed in an instant and shattered right before his eyes.

"She called me this morning. I don't know how she got my number, maybe from my friend way back in college, I don't know," he explained, his voice trembling, unable to meet her eyes.

It finally clicked in her mind—the vague mention from her friend last month about the familiar girl she saw Matt with. This woman, she was their former schoolmate at UMass. Until this moment, Grace had been a complete stranger to her, but she knew Grace was connected with some of her own friends, a mutual acquaintance.

Someone she had never expected would come between them, someone who hadn't crossed her mind—an unexpected threat she hadn't even considered. It was unfathomable, someone seemingly unassuming becoming a disruptive force in their shared life and the love they held for each other.

She didn't even know the woman.

"Okay, Matt, just breathe," she pleaded, trying to calm him down.

He rose abruptly, taking a couple of steps before turning back to face her, she mirrored his movement, standing and locking eyes with him, bracing herself for his next words.

"She's pregnant. And it's mine. And she's decided to keep it," he confessed through tears, his voice quivering, his gaze fixed on hers, as he searched her face for a reaction.

Her legs felt weak, but strangely, no tears came. It was that sensation of the world collapsing around her. The instinct to run away, to escape the situation and never lay eyes on him again clawed at her, she felt the need to stab her heart with a knife, that's what it felt like anyway, but she knew that not a single cry from her, not a single tear shed by Matt, nor any surge of anger from anyone could change the clear reality they found themselves in. Their life, as they knew it, had come to an end. For her, it wasn't just about their shared life crumbling; it was her own life, her plans, everything she had envisioned, all shattered. He was going to be a father, and despite the torment and agony within, she understood that no amount of despair or heartache could alter that irreversible truth.

tags: @querenciasturniolo @athenalive

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fanfic

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broomsick · 1 year

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Heathen-izing your spring celebrations

The earth wakes up from its slumber, snowdrops poke through Skaði's coat of frost, yada yada. You guys know I'm not such a huge fan of spring. I do have, after all, a favorable bias towards winter (sue me). However, something paganism has helped me develop is the taste for each of the seasons our planet has to offer. Having worshipped Freyr for quite a long time, I've come to appreciate the beauty of spring. For one, the celebrations that come with the equinox. Spring festivals carry quite the unique, undeniable excitement, after all! Which is why I'm very happy to share some of my personal practices and ideas regarding norse-paganism oriented spring festivals.

Quick disclaimer! Unlike Jól, the celebration of spring in Iron Age Scandinavia and within the Germanic tribes is quite poorly documented. We've got access to little to no sources describing practices surrounding spring or the spring equinox. Still, I hope this handful of personal ideas and practices prove useful to you! I've summed up a few interesting historically attested (or attested-ish) practices as well, but I suggest looking into them by yourself if you're interested in more detailed information.

The basics

I'm going to assume that many of you are already familiar with what neo-pagan sources generally consider the "symbols" of the spring equinox. Why the rabbit? Because spring marks the beginning of the mating season among hares and lagomorphs. Why the eggs? Because they're a symbol of birth and renewal. Still, neither one of these symbols has any strong ties to historical practice, least of all in Germanic traditions. In the case of Scandinavian practice specifically, the painting of eggs is more often than not believed to have originated within Christian circles before moving north. That doesn't mean, however, that the symbols of hares/rabbits and eggs can't be used in pagan practice! I use them to decorate for the spring equinox no matter their origin, simply because I really do think they fit with the mood, for the reasons previously mentioned. I also love using local symbols of spring, such as snowdrops, to decorate. If you're looking to weave more norse pagan tradition into your celebration, phallic idols/representations are the way to go. They are a major symbol of Freyr, who is closely tied to spring. By worshipping this symbol, you are asking for the prosperity of the land! You can start by "cleansing" the symbol, so to speak, using incense smoke or water depending on what material it is made out of. I tend to use melted snow to cleanse it, to further the symbolism of spring. If you're on a budget or simply aren't interested in buying such an idol, anything can still be turned into a phallic symbol, honestly. A simple tree branch you've picked up outside could do the trick nicely, after you've trimmed away whatever sticks out of it! This is just an example, but I'll trust your creativity to find anything that you feel works as a phallic symbol.

Deity work/worship

At this time of year, it's also pretty commonplace to make offerings to the Vanir, the landvættir and your local Dísir! You can thank them for the summer that has passed, and the one that’s to come. You can ask for a plentiful year, and for an abundance of resources. If you’re not sure how to go about working with landvættir, I suggest taking a quick look at this previous post I made on the topic of land spirit work. Landdísir are especially venerated by neo-pagans at this time of year, because they are considered the guardians of one’s land. By offering something to them, and/or the landvættir, you show your respect for the land itself. I’ve already spoken a bit about worship of Freyr for the coming spring, but let me dig a little deeper on that topic. I almost feel compelled to do so because his association with spring was so widespread that he was at the center of an important springtime festival called Disting. This festival was especially important in Uppsala, where large numbers of people would gather to make sacrifices for victory, and where lovers would allegedly exchange gifts. However, Disting and Dísablót are very often mixed up, as the difference between the two vary depending on the region. But back to our main topic: springtime Freyr worship today. Effigies of boars make for great decoration to invoke the benevolence of the King of Kings. After all, the boar held a major role in his worship: it's generally viewed as his fylgja, and boars were sacrificed to him on Yuletide, according to the Hervarar saga ok Heiðreks. This is the reason I treat my loved ones and myself to boar meat around the equinox, or when it's truly starting to feel like spring. I cook a meal out of boar (trying to change up the recipe every time!) and share it around to family members or neighbors. In fact, the act of sharing has become quite an important part of my worship of Freyr. It allows me to embody his generosity and benevolence! You could see this as a form of devotional. Now if you’re looking for more ideas on Freyr worship, this other post I wrote could prove useful!

The next deity I'll be touching on is the Anglo-Saxon goddess Eostre (otherwise called Ostara), who understandably comes up often when researching the Vernal equinox. We unfortunately know very little about her, including whether she was ever worshipped in history. One thing's for sure, though: she is certainly worshipped by many pagans today, which is why I would suggest looking, not only into historical sources, but also into SPG and UPG if you're interested in devoting a ritual/offering to her. She is heavily associated with dawn, which is why her devotees will sometimes wake up to see the sun rise on the day of the equinox. Dew and flowers are common offerings to her! While I’m at it, let’s talk about flowers some more. They are your best friends when it comes to decoration! Natural ones obviously feel a little more lively, but it’s also perfectly fine to use artificial ones, or even ones made out of paper! They make excellent material for crafts, and having flowers inside the house can be likened to inviting spring itself within your home.

At this time of year, many heathens also engage in Sigrblót ("victory sacrifice"), a blót for victory, or success. This conveniently aligns with Freyr worship, which is often oriented towards finances, personal success or else, due to his association with fertility. The Sigrblót was attested in the Ynglingasaga, though it could be better described as a celebration of the coming summer rather than of spring itself. Now, this celebration is sometimes called Somarsdag ("summer's day"), and it's often said to happen on the fourth full moon after Jól, or on the 16th of April. However, if you aren't tied to any particular group and tend to perform blót alone, I'd say Sigrblót could very well be celebrated on any designated day which feels right to you. Pretty much all the information we have on that sacrifice is speculation, but it would make plenty of sense to perform it around the equinox, in my opinion. The Sigrblót is the perfect occasion to set some goals for yourself! After all, you’re asking for victory! What’s a project you wish to see succeed this year? Since Óðinn is very tightly associated with victory, you can choose to involve him in this ritual, by devoting an offering or a song to him, for example.

Another practice that’s great for a springtime celebration is lighting a fire! It’s a great way to symbolize the return of the sun and warmth. If you are interested in sun worship or if you already actively engage in it, this is an opportunity to do something for Sól! This activity is something that makes for a beautiful devotional. If your area is already pretty warm and if you’ve got the right fixtures, why not make a bonfire outside! And if your area, like mine, still looks like it’s halfway through January, a fire in the hearth will do the job perfectly. Lighting candles does the trick as well, and what's useful about them is that you can carry them around your home, so as to “spread the sun’s light” in your living area, and set them on windowsills to welcome the sun! I actually usually couple the lighting of the hearth with the Sigrblót. Once the blót is performed, I can throw written prayers or wishes in the fire. Though it doesn’t stem from any historical ritual, I’ve developed the habit of carving the simple shape of the Isa rune on a piece of wood, which I throw in the fire to symbolize the end of winter, the melting of the ice! A means of saying goodbye to winter that’s passed, so to speak. If you’re working with candles, this could be done by writing the rune on a piece of paper.

#norse paganism #heathenry #norse gods #deities #spirituality #deity work #paganism #spring #spring equinox #ostara #wheel of the year #pagan #polytheism

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rashidax2 · 2 years

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Headcanons for being Jiraiya's sister

the results of staying up late and letting your random side decide what to post on your blog.

★ First off, I just wanna say he thinks you're scary 😭

★ You don't play any games if/when you catch him spying on women.

★ Whenever Tsunade's too tired to whoop his ass, you'll do it for her!!

★ Even if you get onto him about being a perv .. you're his sister so it makes sense you pick up some of those perverted attributes. you hide it very well though because you know very well that jiraiya would not let you live it down 😭

★ You two are pretty distant ngl. But whenever y'all randomly see each-other while walking by you point at him (like that spiderman meme 💀)

★ You met Naruto and sometimes Jiraiya gets a little jelly whenever you treat Naruto like a little brother (and u can't help it, he's too cute)

★ But nah you hit him on the head whenever he pouts like a baby and then give him a lil side–hug

★ YOU TWO CAN'T TAKE ANYTHING SERIOUSLY. jiraiya will say something that sounds oddly sexual and then you two will have the most intense staring contest then proceed to laugh like idiots 😭 especially in tsunade's office, she'll just wait until yall are done with one of those red marks on her head

★ Dinner is so fun. You feel guilty for stealing Naruto's frog wallet but you and jiraiya get drinks or something. You don't even discuss the Akatsuki's whereabouts most of the time, just random stuff.

★ When Naruto's asleep after training you two take a quick cloud–watching break and laugh whenever one looks like a butt or something lmao

★ He's not too protective of you since you can damn well take care of yourself but if someone insults you while you're away he'll slap them for sure.

★ He likes to annoy you.

★ "[name].." he pokes your cheek, examining your peaceful sleeping face to see if it would stir. His favorite passtime is waking you up from your slumber while you two are together. His eyes hold a childish glint in them as your eyebrows subconsciously furrow and your hands, that lay beside you, splay out a little more.

★ He does the same action once again, this time his finger pushing more into your flesh. He gasps a little and retracts his hand as your eyes snap wide open right after as if anticipating for him to poke you again. He's aware of how grouchy you are whenever you're woken up, so he takes a step back and raises his hands in front of himself as if telling you to wait. He definitely wasn't expecting for you to actually wake up. "Hello there, dear sister."

★ You show him no mercy as your eye twiches, and like a monkey reaching for a banana, you jump at him and knock him to the floor, giving the hardest punches you could muster. Your eyes are as red as a demon's and that's not because of your tiredness. "DON'T! WAKE! ME! UP!"

★ yeah my creativity goes wild whenever i imagine things.

★ But anyways, he loves embarrassing you. Like giving you piggy–back rides in public. You hate how Naruto finds it amusing. You growl (which sounds pathetic considering that you're on your brother's back) whenever he laughs.

★ Yeah, you embarrass Jiraiya too. You call him things like Ji–chan or Froggy–boy. Its funny whenever he crosses his arms like a kid and tells you to stop it.

★ He thinks you're cool. You've been through so much with him, from fighting enemies to beating his ass for spying on women, he couldn't ask for a better sister. (He'd never say this out loud.) And that's why he swears on his life that he'd always be there for you until the day he dies :(

★ 8/10 brother. Goofy and annoying but still cool.

#naruto #anime fanfic #uzumaki naruto #naruto x reader #anime blog #cute #naruto fluff #jiraiya #jiraiya x reader #naruto uzumaki x reader #pervy sage #tsunade #orochimaru #legendary sannin #naruto funny #naruto headcanons #naruto scenarios #naruto angst

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swollenbabyfat · 4 months

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so maybe this is too out there of a question but you seem to draw a lot so i was wondering.... how? asking from a place where I used to draw a ton but had a burnout from it that i don't think i ever really recovered from, now im barely drawing and i feel like my skills are decaying but i just can't get myself to draw, and when i do i can't make anything i like and i just get frustrated ): i want to draw, i still have that urge in me to draw but i just. can't. do you have any advice? if not you can just ignore this ask.

Hmm....I will try my best to give a few ideas to help! But ultimately, I don't have a lot of interest outside of drawing to be honest (to the point I can argue in the past it's been unhealthy), I think a lot of it has to do with being autistic and it being my special interest, and I've always had a pretty high stamina from it, so I'm kind of bad to be compared to in a way I think ^^;

A few things though

-I have projects I work on, even if loosely, basically at all times. I consider my characters stories projects, and do a lot of work surrounding them outside of art that fuels the art - such as making mood boards, writing and talking about them, making playlist, stuff like that.

-If I feel burnt out in one area of art, i.e. character illustrations, I try to do something different, such as background focused work, or doing something outside of what I would normally do, like collage.

-I'm a really big advocate for studies to get out of burn out, and it's most likely what I will do to get out of one myself. Switching mindsets keeps things from getting monotonous, and can put your brain into a different gear which makes it easier to be creative in what you want it to be. Timed figure drawings can also be fun once you break through the "oh god I'm shit at this" feelings when you first start doing them.

-Drawing for others can be really nice sometimes, whether it be through art trades or drawing shit for your loved ones. I tend to do the latter one the most when I feel burnt out from my own work, and like to talk about their oc's a lot anyways, so it's fun to get to know their characters more through art. I use to also do art parties with my friends and do things like switching canvases every ten minutes, all working on one prompt but doing our own thing, stuff like that. In a similar vein, sometimes asking your friends for prompts can be helpful, think of it as an assignment of sorts if that works for you!

-Figure out WHAT you want to draw before you sit down and draw it. There's a lot of different ways to do this, a lot of time if I feel stuck unable to do work I'll look for visual references and make a mood board, or think about themes I've been wanting to explore and ponder on that for some times, a lot of times pieces will sit in my head for a month or so before I actually tackle them. Sometimes I'll go to my inspiration blog and hit the random button a few times and take the images I get from that and try to build something with it. If you feel stuck on a certain part of a piece, break it down further by doing a study of what's getting you stuck (if it has to do with form, I suggest tracing said thing and then practice drawing it yourself afterwards).

Overall, please don't beat yourself up, artist go through cycles of growth and slumber and sometimes you just have to rest, especially if you have outside factors making it hard for you to focus on drawing. It takes a lot for art skills to degrade and even if it were to be the case there's a lot of beauty in picking back up a skill, and sometimes you can even learn it better the second time.

I hope any of this was helpful, I'm rooting for you!

#ask #burn out #art burn out #faq #long post

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stylessupremacy · 1 year

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ophelia going through the stage where she doesn’t want to wear any clothes

I really enjoyed writing this! Thank you for sending it in!! 🫶🏼

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It was a Sunday and in the Styles household, Sundays were chill and lazy days.

Whether it was watching movies, napping, playing, or even having Anne over for the evening. It was always a fun day.

Yesterday Harry and Ophelia did their weekly food shopping and while Phee was napping Harry finished up some chores he wasn’t able to do throughout the week.

The house was spotless when Harry woke up. He learned from his mum that having your house clean is a great start to the week.

He quietly got up and ready for the day opting for some comfy joggers and a plain shirt. He made his way downstairs for some coffee after he checked and saw Phee fast asleep.

While his coffee brewed Harry got the pot roast in the crock pot that he, Phee, and Anne would be eating later.

Harry sighed contently as he sat down on the couch with his cup of coffee. He hasn’t had a quiet and peaceful morning like this for a while.

With all the chaos from work, the holidays, and having a baby on his hands - these quiet and peaceful times are a blessing.

The quietness and peacefulness did not last long when he heard a rustling noise coming from the baby monitor.

He looked at the baby monitor and could see Ophelia slowly waking up from her slumber.

Harry took another sip of his warm coffee before getting Phee knowing when he came back down it would be cold.

He quickly walked upstairs and to Ophelia’s cracked nursery door.

When he walked in and his eyes landed on his sleepy baby he couldn’t help but coo, “Hi, love bug.”

Phee had balled up her fist and was rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, but stopped when she heard her father’s voice.

As fast as her little wobbly legs could, she stood up in her crib and made grabby hands towards Harry.

“Daddy,” her toothy grin making Harry’s smile even brighter if that was possible.

He placed his hands under her armpits and lifted her up and out of her crib bringing her to his chest for a morning snuggle.

The father-daughter sat there for a few as Harry rocked them both, slowly helping Phee wake up a bit more.

“Let’s get you changed so we can get some yummy food in your tummy.”

He gently tickled her tummy causing cute little baby squeals to erupt from Phee.

Harry placed her down on the changing table and got to work ridding her of her dirty pajamas and diaper.

As he taped the clean diaper on her hips, he blew raspberries on her chubby tummy, “What would you like to wear today?”

Harry placed Phee on his hip and walked over to her small closet where her tiny baby clothes were stored.

“Are you feeling pajamas or do you want some sweats?”

Ophelia’s brows were furrowed as she was deep in thought about what she wanted to wear.

Harry read in one of his baby books that letting your child help pick out what they want to wear is good because it helps their creativity and practices their decision-making.

Phee shook her head, “No clothes!” Her baby lisp was prominent when she mispronounced her words but Harry could still understand it.

“No clothes?” He questioned, “But you’ll get cold.”

“How about you wear just a t-shirt and a pair of socks?” He compromised.

He didn’t mind her not wearing any clothes but it was a bad habit to start, considering she will be going to daycare three times a week in the fall.

Ophelia agreed and Harry let her pick out her shirt and socks she wanted to wear.

“Now let’s get you dressed so we can go watch some movies before nana comes over!”

#harry styles #harrystyles #love on tour #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #dad!harry #dad!harry styles

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starskichild · 1 year

Text

The Behemoth Father

Chapter 1: The Discovery

Cw: Blood, minor character death, self-sacrifice, mentions of kidnapping, murder, and slavery/dehumanization of humans Overview: To the North are the Northern Behemoths. These giants are two times the size of their Southern Giant brethren, usually around 20-25 feet in height, absolutely dwarfing the southern giants, who usually stand around 13-15 feet in height. While the Southern Giants consider humanity equal to them, and simply their smaller brethren to benevolently look over, the Northern Giants consider them in a much colder, cyclical, and brutal light. The Northern Behemoths consider humans, or “man-swine”, as lesser beings, some even as pests. Given their strength/size-based class system within their culture, humans to them are no better or powerful than the dirt or scum of the earth. Given that human/smaller folk country is situated right between the two giant kingdoms, humans are much more fearful of giants (southern or northern) considering their violent frequent experiences with the Northern giants, who will sometimes attack and ransack innocent human villages. Either killing or kidnapping the humans of the village, deeming them as slaves or pets in the process. Some among the northern giants, however, do not all act or think this way. Such is the case with Ogden. A kind, intelligent, paternal man who thinks there is way more to humanity than simply being pests, lessers, pets, or slaves. He considers them sentient and equal beings, something that is somewhat a rare belief among his people, but not impossible. He simply wants to live a peaceful life with him and his precious little human daughter, Leilani.

So… This story is about my characters Ogden and Leilani. Ogden is a 27-foot 35-year-old Northern Giant (Or Northern Behemoth), and Leilani is a 2-year-old human girl. I love the found family trope, and the whole “good monster” story line and this story is just full of fluff between these two silly billies, so I hope you’re ready for some good found father/daughter goodness.

This is truly a guilty pleasure writing oop.

Word count: 5626

Special thank you to @narrans @minutemenren/@silverrens @izatoonist @dracothemdragon @orionlionscribs @Bat_Bimbo and my creative writing class for tagging in as early beta readers, proofreaders, and helping in critiquing/sending advice for the story! You guys are da best!

I woke up late one morning not feeling right. I sat up and sniffed the air with a cautious glance from my bed, it seemed to feel heavy all around me. Something wrong happened last night while I was sleeping, but exactly what I wasn't so sure.

I begrudgingly got out of bed, dead tired. I went and checked that the doors were all shut and that the windows had not been broken, but nothing was out of the ordinary. I glanced over the interior of my log cabin, built by my younger hands long ago. The wood chipped with age, but still a sturdy foundation. I checked the cabinets, the pantry, the kitchen, and all throughout the living room for… something, but found not a thing out of the ordinary… "What is happening?" I asked, to no one in particular except myself. My mind was hazy and groggy from some deep slumber I must have fallen into, I walked around and sniffed the air for any signs of intruders...or smoke.

To my horror, I did smell smoke, but when I focused in on the smell of it, it wasn’t coming from anywhere in my house. No, it was coming from close outside. Sure enough, I looked out from one of my windows, and there was a large billowing cloud of smoke above the treetops, not too far off from my humble cabin in the woods. What happened last night??

Oh no…Did a fire burn down the village?

I realized, as smoke seemed to be coming from a nearby human village. I bolted for it, hoping I could help. I had never really interacted with them before, not wanting to deal with a bunch of tiny humans screaming and running away from me, but I still worried something terrible happened, and deep down, I already knew that terrible feeling was right.

~~~

I rushed out of my home and raced towards the smoke. My legs moved faster than ever, my feet left deep divots into tree roots and soil as I ran with giant strides. I thought back to all the times I stood at the edge of the woods, watching the little human children play, or the townsfolk going about their days with a naïve innocence only people with carefree lives can feel. I envied them. Sometimes, I would help in herding animals towards groups of humans out hunting in the cover of night, but never once scrounging up the courage to show myself to them, from fear of how they’d react and how dangerous being seen could be. They’d only ever think me a monster… I could’ve possibly hurt one of them without even trying, but if they were in danger, I wouldn’t hesitate to make my presence known. I could promise that much.

I reached the edge of the trees quickly enough, not stopping in fear of what I was going to find...I looked around, my eyes scanning every nook and cranny.

I approached the village and what did I see? It lay in ruin: houses had been destroyed, and trees had been uprooted. I looked around for survivors, for anyone that had any information, only to find ash and soot that was once a village. I began searching in between the small houses for anyone that might live in the now ashen ruins, and to see what possibly could’ve done this. What caused such chaos to this innocent little human village?

…And then I saw it...large and deep footprints surrounded the village on all sides that were around the size of my own...northern giants were here.

My blood boiled in hot rage, these footprints...these footprints belonged to northern behemoths...My own kin were here. Someone had destroyed this village, and I was going to find out who did. I was going to avenge this village, no matter the cost. I started searching for any survivors or signs of life, hoping, and praying all the while.

I searched the human sized village, walking all throughout the little roads that intertwined within it, but other than finding the charred remains of minuscule bodies of some of the formal residents, I found nothing.

I saw the burnt remains of children, of people who could not fight equally in such a battle, and my anger grew tenfold. If I had met these people…If I had known them, could I have possibly helped in such a massacre? Would I have known sooner? Acted quicker? Could I have prevented such a loss of precious life? My insides churned at the thought of having betrayed these people because of my own cowardice, my ignorance…I must find something, I declared, anything that might explain what happened here. I looked around some more, growing tired and frustrated with every passing moment, every minute not finding a single thing. I was about to give up, turn on my heels and go, but in one desperate attempt for closure, I took one last look around…

Suddenly, as I was about to give into my despair and leave, my ears twitched as they picked up a sound. It was incredibly faint, my ears had almost missed it, but I could’ve sworn I heard a noise coming from one of the human houses. The softest of noises, almost like a squeak, or a whisper caressing my ears.

I froze at the sound, turning slowly, the anger in my chest starting to subside with a newfound curiosity of what the pained sound could be. I started to approach the little squeal with great caution, not knowing what might lie in wait for me inside…

As I got closer to the charred house the little noise emanated from, I gasped realizing what the sound was. It almost sounded like a very weak muffled cry, and it only got louder the closer I got, there was someone in there!

I began to move faster towards the house, the cry growing louder and louder...I needed to get into the house somehow, I needed to get to them - whoever they were. It would’ve broken me if I had lost another soul here, and the weight of the destruction would’ve been too much on my conscience. No more dead bodies to add into my thoughts, please. Not after what I’ve seen…the things that haunt my dreams, this village being a nightmarish addition…I would not let that happen.

I finally reached the burnt remains of the sagging house, the walls visibly quaking next to my footsteps. It was a one-story home, a quaint little thing, albeit barely standing from such fire damage, half the roof caving in on itself. I knelt down, overshadowing the house completely, wondering how in the world I was going to get in there. The faint crying was very clear now. However, a peculiar thought occurred to me, when I realized I couldn’t smell anyone in there, anyone alive, that is...what was going on? Who was in there? In the end, I just decided uprooting the roof from the house would be my best bet to get inside without hurting anyone. It's not like anyone was using the house anymore anyways…

I ripped into the roof like it wasn't even there, using my hands like a force of nature, and upending the roof from its hitches to carve a path directly to where the noise was coming from. I could hear it clear as day, a muffled cry that sounded so faint, it almost sounded like a small animal. I wondered what exactly I would find...someone was in there; I needed to make sure they were okay.

When the dust settled, the roof now completely uprooted from the house, it exposed the interior of the small abode. I overlooked the whole scene before me, a little confused. Down below, within the house, I saw a burnt but relatively unharmed younger human woman lying in her bed sleeping with a tranquil look across her features, and next to her, was a small cellar storage door with a latch on it where the sound seemed to be coming from. As I looked over to the woman my heart dropped when I saw blood surrounding her.

I almost couldn’t believe the scene before my eyes; it was like the world had flipped upside down. I looked at this innocent-looking, peaceful woman. I wondered what she did to be hurt so bad? I looked over at the little door and noticed the little latch on it, but I ignored the latch...there was something under that door, something that needed my help. I approached the door, and ripped it off, wondering what I would find…

I was instantly taken aback in pure shock by what was inside. In the small cellar space laid a tiny, tiny human toddler, probably no older than two years. A little girl, it seemed, who was completely unharmed, if not covered in a little soot and ash, but other than that, I couldn’t see any clear physical wounds on the child. The little one cried out, supposedly left there all night during the attack. Her poor face puffy and red from wailing, covered in snot and drool as she screamed to be heard, surrounded by pine of all things, and then it clicked. Pine! It's a natural masking scent to hide from giant senses. The human child had been put in there to be hidden from giant attackers, I surmised. I had to admit, I was quite impressed by the woman on the bed’s ingenuity, supposedly the child's mother. That explained why I couldn’t smell the tiny child, with her being so close to all the pine surrounding her. Once the child seemed alright, I turned my attention to the wounded woman on the bed, seeming to be in a much worse state than the child.

With the utmost care, I lowered my hand and wrapped my fingers around the woman to turn her and see the extent of the damage, asking "Miss? Are ya alright?" but as soon as my fingers unfurled around her, my heart stilled. Her skin was cold, her back was soaked in her own blood, and her body was utterly limp in my hand.

Oh no…she was dead. Her flesh was cold, so cold, and her body crumpled into itself, void of life.... There was no saving her. My eyes widened, and I set her back down with care. I felt so much remorse and guilt for her - for this whole village. She was only trying to be strong, to protect her child, and now she was gone... No one deserves that. I turned back to the little girl, now realizing that I was her only hope in surviving this terrible tragedy.

It seemed her mother had been like this for a few hours at least, perishing during the village’s destruction. I put the covers over top of her bloodied body, out of respect, and gave her a gentle pat over the covers. I noticed that there was a letter by the head of the woman that I hadn’t notice before, and I took it in my fingertips, putting it in my pocket. I would worry about that later, I reasoned, as I directed my attention back onto the child.

The little one looked at me through tear filled eyes. Her cheeks soaked from desperately wailing, praying for her cries to be answered, and after finally getting that attention, from a towering giant no less, she looked up at me with a frightened, but curious and expectant gaze through her whimpers. The poor thing seemed too young to realize the potential danger she was in, if I were a giant other than me, of course. I looked down at her, also with a curious gaze, as we both seemed to just stare at each other for a few moments, taking each other in. Finally, she sneezed from the soot and ash around her, adding to the mucus on her face. It broke me out of our collective trance, and I decided to break the staring contest between us by reaching out towards her, in her once hiding place, trying to be as slow and calming as possible so as not to seem like a threat to the human baby.

With a hesitant determination, I tried to wrap my fingers around her minuscule frame, which she didn’t care for much at all. She whimpered and whined, recoiling from the touch and overwhelming sensations, as if the mere contact of my skin was burning her. Fat fearful tears started streaming down her face. She looked so miserable with everything. It made my heart wilt to see the child so on edge, but I couldn’t blame her. I must’ve been horrifying to look at from her perspective. However, it didn’t seem like it was my size that she was afraid of, but more-so the fear of a new face. Not terrorized of me because of being a giant, but rather a stranger. It was quite abnormal, not the usual reaction I expected from a human, especially one who went through such a harrowing experience in the face of my own kin…but I could work with this.

First step, I needed to get her out of the little space. She may not like it, but I had no other choice. I couldn’t leave her here knowing she would likely die if I didn’t do anything. So, I reached out to her again, this time, petting and rubbing her side with the utmost care, to get her comfortable with my presence. My massive fingers in comparison to her ruffling her clothes as she stilled, and looked at them seeming slightly confused by the feeling. That seemed to calm her down just a little bit, enough so that I could attempt to encompass my hand around her once again.

She wiggled and squirmed in my hold like a worm once I was able to pick her up. The feeling sending shivers down my spine. Her crying building with vigor from the new sensation. I tried to be as attentive as possible to her reactions, making sure I wasn’t hurting or squeezing her in any way.

I took a brief moment to take in just how tiny the precious life in my hand was, as I lifted her from the space. She was no bigger than my whole thumb, if I were to reckon her height. She weighed nothing, as if as light as a feather. She was so small and fragile in my hands; it was almost scary to think about how tiny she was there in my palm.

On her way out of the space, she looked over to her mother on the bed, and the small girl reached out to the body. She locked her eyes on her mother’s form, seeming only interested with the corpse as she wailed to go to her. She wanted the comfort of her mother… a comfort she would never get again, a comfort I would have to try and provide for her now in her mother’s absence. The child didn’t look back at me once as she was brought up from the house’s wreckage, her only regard being to her mother’s dead body.

I made sure to be exceedingly slow with her as I raised her from her spot, so I didn’t give the poor thing whiplash from any fast movements. She squeaked a little bit in my hold at one point, and I stopped to check up on her, but she didn’t squirm other than that and seemed fine. Soon after that, she turned her attention back to me, now looking up at me with an utmost wonder in her eyes. I hoisted her up with all the care I could muster as I shushed her in a calming tone, still rubbing her with my thumb to help soothe her, until I brought the child up to my face.

She looked up at me, eye to eye as she stared at my face, and my heart melted a bit. Her tears had relatively stopped flowing, as she stared wide eyed and mouth agape. Her form was still quivering slightly, but she was now much calmer compared to a few minutes ago. She looked so innocent and pure, yet so unsure by everything happening. Even though the events that transpired the night prior with her was terrible to think about, she no longer seemed to have a fear of me when she looked into my eyes. In fact, she looked into my eyes with a curiosity like one would look into the sea...I wonder if she was scared?

As I held her form up to my face, my eyes almost crossing to keep her in focus, I looked at her with as much of an entranced curiosity as she did to me. I’d never held a human before, and it was even more nerve wracking than I had ever thought. I decided at that point, since I was this close to her, I could probably smell her now to see if she had any unseen or even internal injuries from who knows what she experienced last night. I brought my nose close to her, and sniffed to sense for anything, and thankfully I could detect nothing out of the ordinary. This miracle child was somehow completely unharmed, albeit the only surviving human in the town. However, if I could save at least one human from my own kinds’ wrath, then I would be satisfied. As I began to pull my face away from her, not wanting to intimidate her with being so close, I immediately stopped when I felt the smallest hand I’d ever felt reach out and touch the tip of my nose. I froze on the spot in pure shock as I looked down, awe-struck at the sensation of the tiny creature touching my nose within my grasp.

She reached out with her small little stubby fingers to try and touch my nose - I could only assume she wanted to play. I smiled at her innocent gesture, trying my best to stay still so as to not startle her. She was so small, so adorable, and so pure in all her innocence. I wondered if she was even old enough to say anything…

She kept her hand there for a little bit as she grabbed the tip of my nose, feeling it with an intense interest. I could sense the almost imperceptible pulse in her hands. Her breathing had fully calmed, as her toddler mind was now enthralled by my nose.

I couldn’t help it; I brought my nose closer to her and pressed it up against her tiny form. Feeling every ruffle of fabric of her outfit, and a pure warmth filled me as her tender hands moved around to touch the oversized pores of my skin. I could feel her chest move up and down with her individual breaths as it was pressed against my flesh, and my nose was tickled by her hair as her face brushed against me. I then heard the most beautiful sound; I heard her giggle as she wrapped her little arms around my nose.

She giggled, at me! A high-pitched and pleasant noise, as she snuggled my nose with the gentlest of touches. It was like the tiniest little hug I’d ever received, and the warmth from her body made it hard for me to want it to end, to pull away, to not be a possible danger to her.

Did she think that we were playing a game? That we were friends? How could one have such innocence in their heart, when the world she existed in was so cruel? I could not help but smile when she giggled, like seeing a ray of sunshine inside a storm cloud.

She seemed to be taking quite a liking to me. Did this little one...actually enjoy my presence? Was she so young she didn’t remember or understand the massacre? Or maybe she was hidden during the attack, and I was the first giant she had ever seen or met? It would have explained how easily she was warming up to me, that had to be the case.

I looked into the girl’s eyes, who was still snuggling against my nose. I decided to see if she could understand what I was saying. I needed at least some way of communicating with the little one, if I was going to be taking care of her, and I would really appreciate it if she did not consider me a monster. I pulled her away from my nose, leaning away enough to where she could see my face, and brought my hands together as I talked to her "Hello. Can yeh understand me, lass?"

She looked at me curiously for a second, before going back to giggling, but to my surprise, I heard something else:

“Hehehe-mm-hi-big!”

It sounded mostly like baby babble, but I could hear her saying words! I laughed a bit, both in shock and joy. She speaks! She can understand! This was incredible - I could just about make out what she was saying, "Hi big." She must be calling me "Big" - is that what she viewed me as? Her giant friend? Her "Big"?

I smiled down at the child, and asked her, "Am I the big?" while pointing at myself with my free hand. She giggled again, patted the hand she was on, and beamed up at me like a child who just told their proud parents a new word they learned.

“Mmmm! Big!”

The first thing I understood her say, was that she had dubbed me "big", not "giant", not “northern giant", nor "monster", or even "beast." "Big". I beamed down at the child; she saw me as a friend and a protector…my large heart starting to swell at this precious moment. I was her friend, her "big". Never in my life would I have ever thought about a human considering me in this way. It was a nice change of pace, I must admit!

I decided to test her on one more thing. I had only ever been able to theorize on human intelligence so far, since I never got close to communicating with the few humans I witnessed while in my old herd and clan, nor interacted with any human communities. Back then I couldn’t even speak in the common tongue, only in the giant’s native language, so I knew I shouldn’t be too harsh on my past self…at least in that regard. However, I knew humans were smart, I just wanted to see how much. "Ma’ name ‘s Ogden. Can yeh say Ogden for me?" With that, she seemed to understand, and gleamed at me again:

“Hehhmm! Oggie!!”

This little girl not only understood me, but she could speak, remember, could be taught, and had her own vocabulary! This was amazing! I wondered if all humans were this intelligent. They must be. I laughed with pride, her big "Oggie" comment making me smile from ear to ear, she said my name! It was at that moment, that my whole world had changed. My whole view of the world so much bigger, all because of her.

I looked down at my new tiny human companion in my hands, and she looked up at me with a smile. Her big eyes staring up at me with a twinkle, as if she was made to be in my gigantic arms. She looked so small in comparison to my body, as if I could eat her in a single bite, but I would never dare. She was a precious little soul who had had a rough life. She deserved a better one now.

I stood to my full height and started to walk back to my cabin deep in the woods of northern giant country. I took another look back at the little girl's now destroyed village with pained eyes, and an empty spot in my heart. What a terrible thing...Looking down at my new friend for the millionth time, I realized I had a responsibility to take her to a safe place. I was now a guardian to her…and I would take her under my wing no matter the cost, even my life. I vowed to give her the best life she could ever have as her eyes met mine, feeling a spark of hope.

As I started to walk out of the town, something stopped me in my tracks that broke my heart. She looked up at me and spoke once again.

“…Why leave mommy? She still home! She sleepin’. We gotta go wake her up! Go see mommy...” She said with a slight whimper at the end, still missing the comfort of her mother’s embrace.

I looked down at the child as my eyes started to water. She understood she was leaving her home, her mother. I had no way of explaining to this girl, in a way she could understand, that she would never be able to see her mother’s eyes open, to look at her with warmth and love ever again. I was at an utter loss for words. How could I even tell her? How could I possibly explain that the person she loved was now gone from this world? I did the next best thing I could think of in the moment. I told her a soft lie, the slightest of falsehoods weaved with some truth that would at least attempt to quench her anxieties as to why we were leaving her home and old life behind her. I was still guilty to lie to such a young child such as her, though.

I spoke with all the softness I could as I explained to her: “Yeh mother is goin’ t be sleepin’ for quite some time, child… We need to let her rest. Ya wouldn’t want her to not get a good sleep, right? For the time being, I’ll be takin’ care of yeh while your mother is asleep. Is that okay, little one?”

She looked up at me unsure of my words, like she was about to argue, but she relinquished and sulked back down into my hand a moment later.

“Okay…”

I sighed and nodded my head, relieved at her response. This little girl should not have had to witness such terrible events...I looked to her house once again. 'You did everything you could have done to protect her; I will make sure that she survives. I promise you that…' I remember thinking to myself. I walked back over to her former home and picked up some of the broken wood and debris from the mother’s ashen abode, to store in my pocket. I will keep this forever, so that she would always have a piece of her old home to keep as a memory. From my palm, the little human child looked over at her old home, grabbed my thumb for comfort, reached out to the house with her other hand, and waved goodbye.

“Bye bye mommy…”

I turned back and continued my journey home, with the small girl within my giant grasp, nestled safely in my cupped palm as I walked. We left that desolate and smoldering town behind us.

~~~

We made it to my cabin, after a small journey, and my human companion looked on in awe at her new colossal surroundings. She gave an exhausted yawn. She did have quite the day, we both had. She must’ve been tired. So, I decided to gently rock her back and forth in my hand to lull her to sleep, which after her long day, did not take long.

I smiled down at her now sleeping form and found some spare cloth I had around the house, gently sliding her onto the scrap of cloth I laid on my desk within my bedroom, just to keep both my hands free. I decided this would be a perfect time to read the letter I found next to the child's mother. I fished the piece of paper from my shirt pocket, along with the debris from the human's old home, and placed it onto the table.

I studied the letter with much anticipation and interest, eager to read just what exactly was inside. The child was safe and fast asleep, and I hoped that her mother was at peace right now, wherever she was.

I opened the letter with utmost care, almost accidentally ripping it in the process, and had to grab my reading glasses just to read the incredibly tiny writing. The letter read as such:

[To whom it may concern,

If you find this letter, then I am probably long gone. Our village is being raided and captured by the Northern Giants at the edge of the woods. They came out of nowhere and just started killing and taking people I…

I don’t know what to do. I can feel them through the ground approach as I write this. I was barely able to escape with my life moments before I hid my daughter. I’m losing blood fast. I don't know how much longer I have…

If you find this and she is still alive...Please, take care of her. I pray that my sacrifice doesn't go in vain, that she has a chance at a better life. The smell of death should deter them from checking the house at least...

Just...please. Take care of my daughter. Give her the life that I couldn't. For my sake...

Tell my beautiful Leilani that I'm sorry.

I love you, my Leilani...]

[The letter ends in blood smears]

I stared in shock and sorrow, tears welled up in my eyes for the second time today, as my hand clasped over my mouth. The despair of knowing that this little child will never get to know her mother truly was heart wrenching. The final moments of this woman’s life were spent caring and fearing for the future of her daughter…I will make sure that this child has the best life there can possibly be, a life in which her mother can be proud. My little Leilani, what a beautiful name...your mother made sure that you were taken care of, even if she couldn't make it, I will... I promise…

I put down the letter next to the debris of the old house, setting it in a safe spot on one of my shelves, picked up Leilani's swaddle with her still fast asleep in it, and softly placed it down on the pillow next to mine. I gazed upon the human child’s swaddled form, a blaze of determination starting to form as I pondered: 'Your mother gave her life for her child to live - a terrible sacrifice, but not one in vain - for her little girl will live on, as long my heart beats. You will have all the love I have. Your mother died so you could live, Leilani… I will keep her mother's letter, so I can read it to her when she is older.' I set my reading glasses aside, and got comfortable in my bed. Reeling after everything the day had brought, but at the same time, swelling with pride for the tiny child sleeping next to me...

I fell asleep that night filled with a sense of hope and warmth, knowing that this child will always have a place to call home. I fell into a deep and peaceful sleep, the kind of sleep that can only come from doing good and knowing you've made a difference in the world. I hope this peaceful rest will last forever...

I am Ogden, a Northern Behemoth.

…and I am Leilani's father.

Here's my first ever written g/t story! I hope you guys like it! Again thank you so much to the people who beta read and gave feedback on this story I truly appreciate your kindness and help with this. If you like my work, please let me know! I highly appreciate any feedback, comments, or support that you'd like to send my way, and these two characters are free to send asks to anytime!

Thank you again everyone who got it this far to read this at the end, you're amazing. Have a great day everyone!

-MӨƬΉ

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plushii-gutz · 1 year

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I didn't feel like coming up with a whole new title, so the new series is simply Fallen Stars: Reality and Recovery. Lazy? Yes. Do I get to use the same tags as before and add literally no creativity? Also yes. The first chapter will be short, as expected.

This little spin-off series will primarily be used for my own entertainment and likely won't be updated too often. If you'd rather consider this work non-canon to the original storyline, I don't blame ya. Enjoy part 1

ֶ֢︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪︶ིྀ︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪︶

Furnoss found himself awake in bed. A digital clock nearby sat on his nightstand, displaying how late in the night it was as if it questioned him as to why he had woken up. The answer made itself known. In the hallway, something passed his door. The wooden floor creaked, a soft clicking of claws against it with every step, growing faint as it taveled farther down the hallway.

Furnoss rose from his slumber, preparing himself to come face-to-face with the intruder. He left his room, listening carefully as the sound echoed off the walls and followed to a single room. The unknown creature was in the bathroom, throwing their towels and cleaning supplies onto the floor. The fire monster reached for the light switch, preparing to defend his home. Finally, with a small click..

Hornacle sat within the sink, pushing off toothbrushes and face wash from the counter surrounding it. They played in the running water, leaving quite the mess behind and even splashing at Furnoss a few times.

"Why and how are you awake? You scared me, Hornacle! I almost turned you into a surf and turf platter!"

Taking one of the many fallen towels, Furnoss scooped the little monster from their game and wiped them clean. They weren't exactly the biggest fan, having their fun cut short, but at least they would go do bed without toothpaste all over them.

"That's enough mischief for one night, yeah? Maybe a whole week, too. Let's get you back to bed before anyone else decides to join."

Hornacle climbed over the elder monsters shoulders, snapping their claw at the sink with an annoyed fit. Thankfully, they were too young to cause much of a fight. Back to bed they go!

The kids, once again, chose to share a room. Furnoss couldn't help but think their reasoning was due to them being afraid. After all, the group had been moving from island to island with no real sense of direct. Even Torrt, the most outgoing lf the bunch, had been a bit shy. Still, they were young, and perhaps they'd grow out of it. With a short story and tucked in blanket, the celestial of water fell back to sleep among their friends.

The night fell still. Even with the knowledge that everyone was their rooms asleep, it felt empty. Maybe because it didn't feel like a home. This house was temporary, only being used to keep themselves secret and to be closer to the hospital until Attmoz and Glaishur were well enough to leave. Furnoss planned to talk to the two and Syncopite to help choose a forever home, no longer trusting himself to make any decisions.

He was riddled with the thoughts of the unknown. The few times they had been seen by other monsters went precisely as he had expected for it to: with fear, confusion, and maybe a bit of doubt. They stuck out like roses among weeds, gods among men.

Whatever they are to face, he's willing to take the challenges head-on.

ֶ֢︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪︶ིྀ︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪︶

"Don'cha think this is a bit mean?"

Glaishur kneeled behind the edge of a curtain, looking around the corner and to the door. Attmoz poked his head out above his friends, waiting for someone to fall into his trap. He had set his newly made air guitar on the floor, invisible to most every monster except for himself, in the hopes of getting a bit of payback. Viola's comments must have gotten to the air monster, considering she was his main target.

"She said it herself - she's a bad monster."

"But a good doctor!" Glaishur pointed out, "She's just doing her job!"

"She joked about you dying during surgery. It's either this or I take a couple of her limbs."

"Attmoz!"

"Shh, she has plenty. We're in a hospital, anyway."

A sudden knock at the door silenced them. It swung open, revealing a rare Furcorn and lavender-colored bowgart.

"Glaishur!" The Furcorn called, "It's time for your med -"

They fell directly onto their face, the flower on the end of her headstalk leaving an imprint of its petals on the floor.

"Get fucked," Viola laughed. She immediately fell into the same trap.

"Ugh, son of a bitch!" The Bowgart rose, ripping the curtain aside. "Funny, real funny!"

Attmoz rolled on his back, wheezing with laughter while Glaishur fiddled with his hands awkwardly.

"Which of you did this?" Flower demanded an answer. Glaishur pointed directly to his friend.

"Oh nice, real nice. Hey, so who was it that broke the beds remote?"

Glaishur continued pointing at Attmoz, only now with his eye narrowed.

"Ok, well, it was a two-monster job!"

Dusting herself off, Viola pulled her clean white jacket back over her shoulders and fixed her clipboard.

"Well, on the bright side for both of us, this monster with a head full of nothing will be able to leave later today. You'll be given a small list of over-the-counter medications that are best recommended, a quick change of bandages, and hopefully a more respectable personality."

The two Celestials gave one another an excited look, a small high-five to accompany it. They were going home!

"Um, Glaishur?" Flower moved closer, a tad bit shy. "Only Attmoz."

"Oh. Right.. Right. I-I knew that, you told me before."

Glaishur hated the fact that he forgets so easily more than ever right now. Still, he forced a smile for Attmoz. At least one of them got to leave, and he would rather it be Attmoz anyway.

"I plan on checking vitals first," Viola continued, "and make sure whatever is supposed to be working is working. Furnoss has been contacted already, so he should be here soon."

"You really want me outta here, don't ya?" Attmoz teased.

"Correct," the doctor dropped her papers back onto the clipboard. "Let's get to that, yes?"

She turned, tripping over air once again. Attmoz followed behind, giving Glaishur a quick grin for a bit of reassurance. Flower stood behind, leading the cold monster back to his bed and making sure to get rid of the tripping hazard.

"Here," She spoke softly, "I'm not supposed to give this to you until after you take your medicine, but I don't think it'll hurt."

The Furcorn offered Glaishur a small candy - taffy, to be exact.

"Just be sure to brush your teeth afterward, yeah?"

The purple monster couldn't help but grin, nodding in agreement. He would see everyone again eventually. They told him his stay wouldn't be too long, especially considering how fast celestials heal. Besides, it wasn't all too bad knowing that, in the least, he'd still have Flower. Viola's a different story.

"Get some rest," She spoke again, "I'll be bringing more of.. whatever medicines I dropped."

"Heh, sorry 'bout that. Been a bit since we've done something like this. Maybe we should keep it that way."

Soon, Glaishur was alone. He'd be moving to a different location soon to make room for more important patients. He hopes his request for privacy will be met. He'd never admit that it was solely because of the number of bald and scarred patches his body had now.

In a week's time, he'd be free. Exploring a new and hopefully final island. Finding a home, living the life he had only ever dreamed of. He could only hope that everything he had done to himself and others would be enough. He didn't want anymore fighting, anymore running. Anymore crying. He wanted to go home to the kids, to Furnoss, to Syncopite. To Attmoz.

#msm #my singing monsters #fallen stars msm #fanfiction #fallen stars au #auh uahu hauhau uahhh auuhhhh

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doodlevich · 2 years

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Scrabble King

Now you all know I love a good prompt, and I’ve been using this opt prompt generator to get some ideas! Here’s the results:

Prompt #1: Ian staying up half the night to finish a game with Mickey.

Word Count: 752

Rated: M

“Go to sleep, man. Your eyes are barely open.” Ian chuckles at his husband, who’s slouched back in his chair like a ragdoll, fighting the influence of slumber.

“Fuck off and fuck you…” Mickey grunts. “We’re finishing this damn game. ‘M gonna win.”

In front of them on the table is a second hand scrabble board that looks like it couldn’t possibly fit any more words. They’re down to their last few letters, and Mickey’s about 50 points away from taking home the win. Near impossible odds, especially considering how he’s been playing so far.

“We can finish tomorrow.” Ian sighs, rapidly blinking his dry eyes and willing them to focus. “C’mon, it’s like… 2 am.”

Mickey slams his fist down on the table suddenly, making the whole board jump a little and displacing some of the pieces. “Suck it up, princess. I got shit to prove.”

Ian rolls his eyes, carefully placing letters back into the correct alignment. He’s not sure what Mickey thinks he’s going to prove with four letters and no space on the board, but he also knows the man he married is about as stubborn as they come.

They’ve been playing for far longer than any scrabble tournament has a right to go on. Ian’s not sure when they started, but all he knows is that his ass muscles are cramping from sitting in the same position for too long. They’ve played 4 games, he thinks, maybe 5, and he’s managed to smoke Mickey by a mile in every one. He’s not even doing it on purpose any more- Mickey’s just historically bad at spelling and his vocabulary typically leaves something to be desired.

‘SHITSHOW’ isn’t a word Mick.

Um, yes it fucking is.

Yeah, I know it’s technically a word, but not according to Scrabble rules.

Who said we were following the rules, asshole?

Such conversations happened about every fifteen minutes during the course of the evening, but now that things have gotten down to the nitty gritty, Mickey isn’t arguing about words any more. He’s staring at his remaining letters like they’ll magically form a 50 point word if he gives them the stink eye hard enough. Ian ponders over the fact that Mickey most definitely has some level of dyslexia that never really got the attention it needed, and how he’s probably never going to mention it outloud, because he has a feeling it wouldn’t go over well.

Instead, he thinks a distraction might be in order.

“Mick,” Ian hums softly, leaning over to rub calming circles over Mickey’s lower back. “We can just go to bed and pretend this never happened. You win, you have bragging rights, okay? If anyone asks, you’re the reigning king of scrabble.”

Mickey side eyes him intensely, but doesn’t say no right away. Maybe it’s because Ian’s still rubbing and massaging, drifting lower until he can give Mickey’s ass a squeeze.

“That all?” Mickey asks, a smirk forming despite his exhaustion. “What else is in it for me?“

Ian pretends to think about it, even though he already knows the way to Mickey’s heart is through his dick. He slides his hand over top of his husband's thigh and runs his thumb teasingly over the seam of Mickey’s crotch.

“I’ll figure out a new and creative way to wake you up…” Ian promises.

Mickey attempts to hold back a shiver at Ian’s light touch.

“Fuck, how did I get so whipped? ” Mickey asks himself, rhetorically.

Ian grips Mickey’s inner thigh tightly. “Cuz I’m irresistible… and the big dick doesn’t exactly hurt my chances.” He jokes.

Mickey glares down at the board yet again, weighing his options, and then gives in, just as Ian had predicted. He shoots up from the chair with enough force to have it teetering and grabs Ian’s wrist, pulling him up as well.

“What if I can’t wait until the morning?” Mickey muses, a sultry look on his face as he steps backwards towards their bedroom with Ian in tow.

“I’m sure we can arrange something.” Ian chuckles.

Mickey stops outside the door and lets go of Ian’s wrist before invading his personal space. He wraps arms around Ian’s neck as their bodies collide, and Ian lets a little puff of air escape him at the unexpected impact.

“Gonna call me ‘Scrabble King’ while you fuck me?” Mickey asks, his lips curled into a demented grin.

“Demanding!” Ian tuts, squeezing his husband’s waist. “Guess I shouldn’t expect any less from the Scrabble King, huh?”

I hope you enjoyed! More to come, and I’ll eventually be posting a series on Ao3 when I get a few done! 😌

#gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #ian and mickey #gallavich fanfic #shameless fanfic #jena writes <3

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stillseekwill · 2 years

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Slumber Party is available for pre-order!

In support of the National Network of Abortion Funds

Slumber Party, an 18+ zine featuring 30+ creatives from around the world is open for pre-orders!

Slumber Party is dedicated to a feeling: the one you get in the middle of the night when you know you should be quiet but you can't keep laughter from spilling over your tongue; when you're compelled to tell someone your most closely guarded secret because you trust them, and because it doesn't feel like it'll be real in the morning; when the space between your fingers and theirs is warm and thick; the moment before it all happens; falling in love in all the ways you know how, and some you don't.

The Slumber Party Collective stands in solidarity with Americans seeking abortions. All profits from zine sales will go to the National Network of Abortion Funds.

GET IT HERE

A personal note

This zine has been, from the first moments of conception, a labour of love. The enthusiasm in which the writers, poets, and artists embraced the theme and task has been humbling, and what we've made together is truly beautiful. I sincerely hope that if you've considered my work in the past that you'll pick up this stunning anthology, and in turn support the work of abortion providers in the US.

BUY SLUMBER PARTY NOW

#slumber party #zines #zine promo #creative anthologies #nostalgia #feminine aesthetic #comics #poetry #illustration #art #personal essays #flash fiction

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venusstadt · 1 year

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youtube

Are the kids alright?

According to recent news reports, they seem to be anything but, especially the girls. Earlier this year, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention published a study that found that in 2021, almost three in five girls in high school considered suicide (Ghorayshi and Rabin), a number that has increased by 60% in ten years (Twenge).

Overall, the mental health of teenagers in the U.S.—already burdened by concerns about climate change and school shootings—only worsened thanks to pandemic-induced anxiety and isolation (Webster). This, of course, is on top of things such as figuring out their own individual identities (Webster).

If there’s anything that last week’s discourse surrounding Sydney Sweeney has proven, is that tween and teen girls have always had a rather tough time navigating that weird space between childhood and adulthood, that space where puberty feels like a mortal sin and any legitimate questions and concerns one might have about themselves or the world around them are blithely dismissed or treated as heresy.

But there was once a host of places where tween and teen girls could find some relief from the world at large and commune with their peers away from the gazes of those that sought to mock them. And, believe it or not, one of these spaces was online.

Hi, and welcome to Venusstadt. I’m Jiana. Today, I’m filming with my webcam in true early internet fashion to discuss Rookie, the feminist-leaning magazine founded by a teen for teens and tweens to give them a place to share their thoughts and creativity amid a society in which girls and girlhood were treated as nuisances.

TAVI GEVINSON

First, let’s discuss Tavi Gevinson.

Tavi, the youngest of three, was born in 1996 in Chicago. Her father was an English teacher, while her mother taught Hebrew and weaved (Knight).

Usually in a biography you would hear details like early childhood or adolescent experiences that led to the subject’s choice of career. However, Tavi is unique in that her career started when she was a child, and that that career was one that she chose herself.

Tavi became interested in fashion when she started to make collages in fourth grade out of pictures she cut out of magazines (Widdicombe). She first discovered blogging at a slumber party, when she was shown the personal site of her friend’s older sister, who also enjoyed fashion (Widdicombe). Tavi then used Blogspot to start her own site in 2008, calling it “Style Rookie” to fit in with the trending fashion blogs of the time (Vogue, YouTube, 1:10).

Through her posts, she documented her personal style, her thoughts on runway shows, and random anecdotes from her tween life. She was eventually propelled into the spotlight of the wider fashion industry when New York Magazine wrote a short article about her and her blog, appropriately titled “Meet Tavi, the 12-Year-Old Fashion Blogger” (Kwan).

Tavi’s initial rise to fame came at a time where people were really beginning to pay attention to the potential of the internet. Along with social media sites like MySpace and Facebook, which were already rather popular, people also began to read and start blogs (cite). These bloggers, who were in every niche from politics to mommy blogging to art, were basically proto-influencers. With Tavi also came Bryanboy, Scott Schuman of The Sartorialist, and Tommy Ton of Jak + Jil, all apart of the fashion blogosphere that was viewed as “democratizing” the industry, since it shifted some of the authority away from traditional sources like journalist and established critics to people who more closely resembled the average consumer (Widdicombe).

However, Tavi was unique due to the fact that she was like, 12 (Widdicombe). This, combined with her pretty impressive knowledge of fashion and culture and the mature, conversational tone with which she reportedly wrote, made her a spectacle to the adults of the fashion press (Widdicombe). Her youth also gave her the gusto to wear what she wanted as opposed to adhering to traditional fashion rules.

By 13, Tavi was sitting front row at various fashion shows (“Japan Goes Mad for 13-year-old,” The Cut). She attended John Galliano’s Spring 2010 Dior couture, where she met Karl Lagerfeld and Rei Kawakubo (Widdicombe). Later, she would also be the guest of honor at a holiday party for the latter’s brand Commes des Garcon (“Japan Goes Mad for 13-year-old,” The Cut).

While there were many who liked Tavi, she also had her fair share of detractors. Take, for instance, Sarah Mower of the Telegraph, who wrote of recognizing Tavi at the Dior show with a “sick lurch” and fantasized about yelling at Tavi’s father (Widdicombe). Ann Slowey, then fashion news director for Elle, questioned Tavi’s age and the likelihood that Style Rookie was actually written by her, while FIT’s Valerie Steele asserted that no one would care about Tavi if not for her age (Widdicombe). Tavi admitted that the attention got to be too much occasionally; when New York Magazine first brought attention to her blog, she even took a brief break from the internet (Widdicombe). According to Tavi:

“A lot of people on the internet have a problem with a young person doing well. I felt like, there were a lot of people who were there [in fashion spaces] because of their name, their money, or their family, and I didn’t have any of those things” (Kane).

Outside of her blog and media appearances, Tavi was still pretty much a normal tween, making collages and DIYs, attending public school with her peers, and shopping around at various thrift and vintage stories (Widdicombe). At the same time, she was speaking at conferences and guest writing for publications, using the money she earned from that to buy herself an occasional designer item (Widdicombe).

As with most young people, Tavi’s interests eventually changed, and she began to take less interest in fashion than she did with subjects such as “outsider art, feminism, gender identity, and media” (Knight).

ROOKIE MAGAZINE

As I mentioned in depth in my previous video essay on Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, children are seen as unsophisticated blank slates that can be trained to uphold pre-existing standards, and therefore must be rigorously surveilled and molded for the interest of wider society (O’Connor 4). “Children” here includes teenagers, who, since the category was invented by marketers in the 1950s, have been sites of anxiety and have represented social decline with their necking mobiles and rebellious attitudes (Thompson).

The concept of the “tween,” which denotes young people between eight and fourteen, was also invented by marketers in the early 90s (Guthrie 1). Newsweek in the late 90s described tweens as a “generation in fast forward, in a fearsome hurry to grow up” (Guthrie 1). Guthrie notes that “tween” was a label typically restricted to girls, who apparently felt more pressure to act older than their ages than boys were. Quoting Judith Halberstrom, Guthrie writes that:

“Female adolescence represents the crisis of coming of age as a girl in a male-dominated society. If adolescence for boys represents a rite of passage […] and an ascension to some version (however attenuated) of social power, for girls, adolescence is a lesson in restraint, punishment, and repression” (Guthrie 2).

I don’t believe I have to go into great depth explaining how media can be used to enforce social norms, but there are numerous examples involving media censorship (such as the Hays Code or the current Florida Book Bans) that demonstrate how industries or governments can use the media to maintain a certain status quo.

In their article “Narrative Analysis of [...] Etiquette in Teenage Magazines,” Ana C. Garner, Helen M. Stark, and Shawn Adams highlight a plethora of studies that demonstrated how teens put a lot of weight onto teen-oriented magazines as arbiters of taste and social etiquette (3). These magazines were often the go-to source as opposed to their parents due to their accessibility and ability to be read in private (Garner 3).

Magazines for teen girls largely included content that, you guessed it, promoted the standard gendered social norms expected of young women, such as how to dress, how to use makeup, and how to get the attention of boys (Garner 2). These articles and advertisements played an important role in the acculturation process of the young women who read them, in that they provided a specific set of cultural expectations that the girls figured they were expected to meet in order to be proper women. As stated by Garner, Stark, and Adams:

“…women’s magazines play a socializing function through the stories they tell in columns, features, and advertising. Readers encounter and then may initiate cultural myths of identity. According to Kellner, ‘Media stories provide the symbols, myths, and resources through which we constitute a common culture and through appropriation of which we insert ourselves into this culture.’ Magazines constitute part of the media stories that shape both society’s sense of culture and our sense of self in culture” (Garner 2).

Though such advice on makeup and boys might be helpful on an individual basis, such dictates could serve to be confusing at a time where a young girl is attempting to figure out her own identity, and did not really answer any of the questions a lot of girls would have about adolescence and adulthood (Guthrie 6). This is where Rookie magazine came in, but before we discuss Rookie, we ought to discuss Sassy.

Sassy was a teen magazine that was published from 1988 to 1996. It was notable for being a feminist teen magazine that spoke about serious subjects like suicide and STDs at a time where, again, most teen girl magazines were instructed girls on how to maximize their appearances in order to get dates (Talk of the Nation). Sassy drew a lot of ire from evangelical groups who boycotted it when it first started, which made advertisers not really want to touch it after a while (Talk of the Nation). It eventually stopped publishing and was absorbed into ‘TEEN magazine…which just talked about boys and dating again.

In spring 2010, Tavi mentioned on Style Rookie that she wanted to create a magazine inspired by Sassy and the riot grrrl zines of the 1990s, which were key parts of the third-wave feminist movement (Knight; Feliciano). Founding editor of Sassy Jane Pratt then reached out to make that happen (Knight).

At first Gevinson was in talks to sign on with Say Media to make this idea come to life, but she ultimately decided to pursue her idea independently so that “the man” wasn’t involved (Knight). According to Tavi’s father Steve, Rookie was independently financed “on family borrowing” (Knight).

Rookie first launched in September 2011 as Tavi entered her sophomore year of high school, filling the void that Sassy left in the teen publication industry when it shut down in 1996. In her first Editor’s letter, Tavi asserted that unlike other magazines like Teen Vogue or Seventeen, Rookie:

“…is not your guide to Being a Teen. It is not a pamphlet on How to Be a Young Woman. It is, quite simply, a bunch of writing and art we like and believe in. While there’s always danger in generalizing a whole group of people, I do think some experiences are somewhat universal to being a teenager, specifically a female one. Rookie is the place to make the best of the beautiful pain and cringeworthy awkwardness of being an adolescent girl” (Gevinson).

If you look at Rookie’s visual aesthetic throughout the years, you can definitely see how the riot grrrl zines also influenced it. The whole site had a whole DIY/collage aesthetic. As stated previously, riot grrrl was a major part of the third-wave feminist movement (Feliciano); Huse states that its zines were so important and impactful because they gave girls “an outlet for their own stories, a means to reclaim culture and language through their writing, and the ability to critique mainstream media with their own publication” (Huse 12).

That pretty much also describes Rookie’s primary draw. Like Sassy and its riot grrrl foremothers, Rookie magazine served as a way for teens to read about and discuss serious topics like birth control, mental health, and coming out in a safe space where they would not be shamed or ridiculed (Wilson). It was also feminist-leaning without the terminology that might be found in a Gender and Women's Studies textbook or journal. This meant that the language used was simple and more accessible, allowing progressive concepts to be shared with a younger audience (Kane).

Rookie also featured a pretty wide range of content, from interviews with artists, authors, and celebrities; to short fiction and poetry, film and literature reviews, DIY and personal style guides, cool playlists and illustrations—basically anything a teen might want. Much of this content was submitted by its tween and teen readers (Wilson), and submitting to Rookie was much like submitting to any other magazine. Each month there was a specific theme, and Rookie gave potential contributors ideas of what they could send in. There was also a poetry roundup, where Rookie would publish a bunch of submitted poetry each month. Of course, all submissions had to be unpublished, and Rookie rigorously fact-checked any non-fiction pieces. What was most impressive to me was that they took their young contributors seriously by compensating them for their work and creativity, though it was never officially disclosed how much they paid. The first three themes of Rookie were Beginnings, Secrets, and Girl Gang in September, October, and November of 2011; the last three were Rebirth, Spirit, and Evolution in the same months of 2018.

Advice questions could be sent in at any time. These questions could be answered in columns like “Ask a Grown Man” and “Ask a Grown Woman,” which allowed teens to ask various celebrities for advice (Kane). Celebrities who participated in this included Cyndi Lauper, Paul Rudd, Terry Crews, and even Hillary Clinton during her 2016 election campaign.

The website updated only three times a day, all in the afternoon when teens would be most apt to actually read the content: “after school, at dinner time, and when it’s really late and you should be writing a paper but are Facebook stalking instead” (Wilson).

The Rookie staff consisted of Tavi, a few grown people who handled the business and some of the editing, and other teen staff like Petra Collins, Hazel Cills, Arabelle Sicardi, and more. Staff members largely interacted with each other online via email and social media, but they occasionally met up for events like Rookie Road Trip, which was a four-week long tour in which teen staff members and Anaheed Alani packed into a van and drove across country from New York to Los Angeles to promote Rookie Yearbook One. The staff met up with the Rookie audience in venues like ice cream parlors, record stores, arcades, and theaters, where they did zine/collage-making events, poetry readings, and live performances (Gevinson).

The Rookie Yearbooks were printed yearly roundups of the online magazine content, edited and art-directed by Tavi, along with exclusive interviews and notes from celebrities (Peiser). There were a total of four to cover the magazine’s first four years. In addition to the yearbooks, Rookie also sold t-shirts, stickers, and posters.

END OF AN ERA

But, as I implied at the beginning, this website described by Healy as a “glistening, empowered world of girlhood” did not last. So, what happened?

The simplest answer is social media. But, truthfully, the newspaper industry has been unstable long before then. As Tavi pointed out in her final Editor’s Letter for Rookie, between January 2001 and September 2016, half of all newspaper jobs were cut from the industry (Gevinson, “Editor’s Letter 2018”). It’s also worth remembering that from 2015 to 2018, publications were laying off writers left and right in order to “pivot to video” content, mostly so they could cater to Facebook’s algorithms (Weissman).

According to that same letter, Rookie started running into financial issues as early as 2016, as social media engagement began to make up the bulk of the magazine’s online engagement as opposed to, say, people actually clicking on article links or leaving comments (Gevinson, “Editor’s Letter 2018”). While this technically be a good thing for, say, a zine that was firmly embedded within the social media with no central website, this was bad for Rookie because it rendered their ad-based revenue ineffective (Gevinson, “Editor’s Letter 2018”).

Tavi had no desire to ask her young readers to subscribe or donate to the site (Gevinson, “Editor’s Letter 2018”). She doesn’t explicitly explain why this was not an option, but my best guess is that she wanted the site to remain accessible to those young people who might not have had the money for a potential subscription or donation.

Tavi had previously been advised to work out some sort of marketing and engagement strategy before things took the turn that they did, but she said she never really listened because…well, she was a teenager (Gevinson, “Editor’s Letter 2018”). Who can blame her.

Anyways, in fall 2017, the Rookie team began searching for investors and/or partnerships they could do to keep the magazine running and strategize to figure out how to expand Rookie’s content offerings (Gevinson, “Editor’s Letter 2018”). However, most potential business partners wanted Tavi to promote herself as the brand’s face to get Rookie back on its feet before passing it off to a new, fresh figurehead that could lead the magazine into the next era (Gevinson, “Editor’s Letter 2018;” “Instagram''). By this time, Tavi was wanting to grow beyond Rookie magazine and pursue other ventures like acting, so she was on board with this concept (Gevinson, “Editor’s Letter 2018;” “Instagram'').

This didn’t pan out too well. Tavi did more sponsored social media content in order to market herself as an “it girl,” but even though these sponsorships let her avoid taking an income from struggling Rookie, she didn’t really enjoy the “hustle” of doing this, and neither did Rookie’s more progressive-minded audience, who knew when consumerism was being thrown in their faces (Gevinson, “Editor’s Letter 2018;” “Instagram”). This particularly came to a head when Tavi was criticized for contributing to gentrification while living in a sponsored luxury apartment in Brooklyn (Gevinson, “Instagram”). She was getting criticized for her personal finances as well since she was so present within the media, but Tavi wrote in Cut magazine that this was largely rooted in a misunderstand of how the media industry works, and that she was never really earning enough to live from such media appearances or photoshoots (Gevinson, “Instagram”). So the plan of Tavi promoting herself as a public figure in order to re-popularize the Rookie website fell apart.

Again, most media companies were already not doing well, so absorbing Rookie without such personality content from Tavi to help it up again was out of the question (Gevinson, “Editor’s Letter 2018”). Tavi explains it all very clearly, again, in the final Editor’s Letter:

“I have spent the fall learning what it would mean to sell Rookie to a new owner who could fund it, build it, or hire more people. I have learned that I can’t take on the responsibility that would come with remaining as its editor, or even transitioning it to a point where I could leave completely.

“…most media companies are also struggling. They can’t afford to buy other publications that are struggling, and/or they are understandably not interested in spending the money to get Rookie to sustainable profitability without the founder/editor/owner since day one—in other words, me. I can’t make that commitment, and at this moment, Rookie can’t exist without it” (Gevinson, “Editor's Letter 2018”).

Thus, on December 1, 2018, Rookie magazine officially ceased operations (Wilson), joining or preceding other sites by women such as the Hairpin, the Awl, the Toast, and Lenny Letter (Blum).

After Rookie folded, the staff at Man Repeller got together to discuss the changing nature of online media. Haley Nahman stated that:

“The part that makes me sad is understanding/learning that content that drives the most traffic (i.e., what keeps media brands in business) is not necessarily the highest quality, and that has become increasingly true as publications that put out good work flail, and those that put out, say, celebrity gossip or SEO-clickbait thrive” (Team Repeller).

Tavi’s goal from the Sassy- and riot grrrl-inspired beginnings of Rookie was always to make great content rather than simple filler articles (Knight). Ultimately, the internet took websites such as these for granted, opting instead to bury them under forgettable filler and clickbait content—something that has clearly continued into the current era. And, though there will always be people searching for good content online, sometimes that minority is not enough to sustain such a time-consuming publication like Rookie and many others.

Fortunately, Rookie remains up as an archival site. So at least we’ll always have the memories.

IMPACT

All in all, Rookie gave young people not only the confidence to share their ideas and express themselves through writing, photography, and DIYs, but also gave them the early experience to pursue such creative ventures at a professional level.

One of the most impressive things about Rookie is the number of names I recognized during my research from today and from my days as an impressionable young teenager on Tumblr. One such name is that of photographer Petra Collins, who was one of the original staff members for Rookie and participated in the Rookie Road Trip that first year in (Kane). Petra published a lot of photography on Rookie that then made the rounds on sites like Tumblr and Pinterest and formed the basis for a good many moodboards of the mid-2010s. She has since moved on to doing photography direction for fashion brands, as well as music videos for artists like Carly Rae Jepsen, Cardi B, and 2021 teen queen Olivia Rodrigo. Other Rookie alumni include NPR Music editor Hazel Cills, another founding Rookie Road Tripper, and Ashley Reese, who once wrote for Jezebel and Netflix’s Tudum, who you’ve probably seen on Twitter. There was also a lot of cross-pollination between Rookie and the Art Hoe movement’s founders and curators. While I don’t believe Ione Gamble ever wrote for Rookie, she was present at meetups for Rookie in London and cites Rookie as the influence for her zine Polyester, as well as Gal-Dem, and One of My Kind (OOMK) (Gamble).

Seeing the sheer number of people who either wrote for or read Rookie during their formative years is honestly amazing. And when you look at Tumblr or Pinterest’s mid-2010 years, it’s obvious that a lot of the “alternative teen girl aesthetic” that Tumblr came to be known for does sort of owe itself to Rookie as well, since so many girls on that site also happened to read Rookie and share images from Rookie to Tumblr or Pinterest. These images ended up on moodboards and continue to inspire online visual content to this day in one way or another. So when former Rookie staff member Arabelle Sicardi declared in 2021 that “pop culture is Rookie” to Teen Vogue—whose progressive content today likely owes a lot to Rookie as well—she isn’t kidding (Wilson). Without Rookie, media for young people, specifically women, girls, and non-binary people, would be a whole lot less endearing.

SEMI-CONCLUSION

That would’ve been a neat place to end this video, but I am going to get on my soapbox and say that it would be really beneficial if we had some sort of online space for tween and teen girls (and non-binary folks) today. Again, Teen Vogue has filled the younger, progressive void, but that’s not really a site where readers can submit things and be published without a pre-existing resume of some sort.

There’s also traditional social media giants like IG, Twitter, Tiktok, etc., but honestly even though they led to the demise of publishers like Rookie, they aren’t really a good replacement. Though anyone can share their thoughts now, these websites have arguably led to the shrinking of both our attention spans and the internet (Holderness). Also, algorithms are weird and perfectly good content is buried under the noise of search-engine optimization or content that simply isn’t good but very popular (example – subway surfer south park nonsense).

These also frankly aren’t safe spaces for young girls and women. In fact, social media was also linked to the teen girls’ mental decline, thanks to things like cyberbullying and the threat of sexual exploitation (Twenge). This is only going to get worse now that we have this wave of misogynistic backlash online, and teen girls who try to use social media can be at any point met with manosphere podcasters, tradwives, or straight-up violent incels who are typically their own male peers (Ewens). And now we also have the issue of AI-generators and deep fake adult materials; girls who post their faces online are likely going to have their faces stolen at one point or another.

At this point, any type of curated, online space for girls to get away from would be beneficial, but we’re so used to the convenience of social media now as a culture that it’s uncertain what form that online space will come in if ever. Hopefully, in one way or another, a new Rookie more suited to our times will pop up somewhere.

ACTUAL OUTRO

So that was depressing! But if you liked the non-depressing parts, and would like to be notified for more videos like this, be sure to click the subscribe button below. I also provide updates via the social media links listed below. This is obviously still a newer channel and I’m still kind of testing certain things out, so feel free to leave any feedback you have in the comments. For short-form biographies on women in the arts or other fun facts about culture, follow my TikTok or Instagram. Thanks for watching!

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